


Something's Got To Give

by Mercutio



Series: Snipers Do It From A Distance; Assassins Do It From Behind [4]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Deadpool being Deadpool, Human Disaster Darcy Lewis, Hydra (Marvel), Multi, Murderous Cinnamon Roll Bucky Barnes, Not Canon Compliant, Suspension Of Disbelief, Unrealistic Depictions of Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-03-29 10:42:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 22,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13925481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mercutio/pseuds/Mercutio
Summary: Steve leaves, but nothing's been resolved.  Where do Darcy and her snipers go from here?Where does Deadpool come into this?  And what's this about being a mutant?





	1. In which nothing of much importance happens

While Captain America had more or less agreed to take a vacation, this did not end the vigilance of the pair of snipers over Darcy Lewis.

They agreed without needing to discuss it, that the situation warranted their protectiveness. Until Rogers departed New York, both would feel the restless urge to check on her. Or so Darcy surmised. It was that or they were a bunch of bossy boots, which, yeah, she could see. But…

While James and Clint dogged Darcy's steps for the rest of the evening, sitting beside her while eating and each taking an opposite of her on the couch when they watched a movie afterward, neither tried to tell her what to do or brought up any of what had happened earlier. Instead they limited their conversation to short remarks about the food and comments on the movie. It was adorably domestic and entirely wrong.

Wrong in a good way or wrong in a bad way remained to be seen.

She didn't like it because it meant things had changed. Change meant things were different and you lost the good when that happened. She feared that Clint and James could not sustain their current activity of waiting on her. Both men thrived on time spent alone. She didn't want them to get tired of her or to think she wanted them to be clingy. Sure, it was great getting to lean on Clint and tuck her feet up on the seat cushion, almost, but not quite brushing James' leg. It felt cozy and safe and all kinds of good things. She loved it. But the anxiety ate at her.

When the movie was over, she yawned and said, "I think I should be getting to bed now. It's been a long day. Too long."

James regarded her steadily, not changing his expression or posture. But Clint let her see his hesitation. She loved him a little more for that. He didn't do it specifically for her -- she'd seen him telegraphing his reactions whenever he knew himself to be observed -- but it endeared him to her, the idea that he might allow himself to relax his defenses in her presence.

He licked his lips. "Do you want--"

Clint didn't finish his question. He didn't have to. She thought she knew what he was asking. Did she want him to spend the night? Darcy didn't know what the right answer was. She was used to observing people from a distance. Not like a sniper, but more like a piece of furniture that could move and speak. Like she was observing all this from the couch's point of view. Darcy didn't know how to properly assess the situation when she was a part of it. It left her uncomfortable and nervous. "If you want."

She could have understood it if he accused her of playing games. Or… well, just about any response. Taking her up on it and assuming it meant more. Being passive aggressive about it and having a back and forth dialogue about who wanted what. Any of that.

But instead Clint just nodded and stood up, stretching before offering her a hand. "Walk you to your door?"

Not what she expected him to say at all. Darcy ducked her head to hide a chuckle, because she was laughing at herself, not him and she didn't want him to think otherwise. She accepted his hand though. So adorable. "You'll spoil me."

"You deserve some spoiling, doll," James commented. He didn't move from the couch. Apparently, he was entrusting Clint with her for now.

Darcy-sitting duty.

The phrase flashed through her mind, but she shoved it down. What the fuck, brain? You get what you want, and then you can't believe it's happening?

Clint hadn't let go of her hand, and she focused instead on its solid weight, how he entwined their fingers as if the gesture were natural.

"With you two around, I'll be spoiled rotten in no time at all," Darcy said lightly. Don't scare them off. Don't ruin this before it even begins.

"It's all right, sweetheart," Clint told her. "We've got you."

Protective deadly men hovering over her. She needed a pillow to scream into. How was this her life?

"And I've got you," she promised. She would take care of them as long as they let her. That was a solemn vow.

His smile lit up his face, and Darcy felt like Clint Barton loved her. *Her*. God. She knew it wasn't true, but it *felt* true for just a moment and really -- what even was her life?

James lifted up from the couch and Darcy swiveled her head to look at him.

He didn't -- or wouldn't -- meet her eyes, but when she and Clint moved toward the elevator, he followed them.

By the time they reached her apartment, Darcy felt like she was leading a parade. Too formal and slightly foolish. "So, uh, you guys wanna come in?"

Clint ran a hand over the back of his neck. "Yeah, about that. We need to talk."

She wrinkled her nose. "A, aren't I supposed to be the one to say that and B, didn't we already?"

He laughed at her. Gold star! She'd fooled him into thinking she'd been making a funny. "Get inside already."

Darcy grinned back and went inside. "Jarvis, you can let these two in whenever. It's okay with me."

"You shouldn't do that, doll," James said, even as Jarvis answered, "I have assigned them the same permission as Thor and Dr. Foster."

"Thanks, J!" Darcy entered her room and flopped down on the couch. "And it's cool, guys. It just means you can get in if you need to when I'm out and in like an emergency and J can let you in if he thinks it's okay, but you have to ask first if I'm here. It's a thing we do. Jane and me. Lets me grab stuff she forgets from her room, but not accidentally walk in on her and Thor getting it on."

James still seemed doubtful, but Clint nodded.

She braced herself for the upcoming conversation. "So what'd you wanna talk about?"

Neither Clint nor James took a seat on the couch. James leaned against the wall next to the door, while Clint sat cross legged on the coffee table.

"Arrangements. Warnings. Stuff."

"Stuff. I like stuff," Darcy said, having no idea what was going on and trying to cling to sanity by her fingernails. Anxiety loomed threateningly though.

"I'm going to start out with the easy stuff. Is it okay to sleep over?"

Well, that was easy. Darcy shrugged. "Sure? Sometimes anyway."

"Here, my place, elsewhere?"

"I'm not sure I wanna know, but what counts as elsewhere?"

Clint fingered the bandage across his nose. "Uh, common room, ceiling vents, Barnes' place, anywhere else, really."

The ceiling vents? What the fuck, dude? "Wherever is cool," Darcy replied. "I'm okay with here unless you'd rather somewhere else."

He shrugged. "Might end up keeping some of my stuff here if I stay over often enough. That okay?"

She pursed her lips. No standing up and shouting 'Yes! Yes! Yes!' Act like a sane person. Remember not to ask for too much or lead him on. "Maybe we're moving too fast?" she suggested.

Clint nodded. "Noted. So no on sex, too, for now, right?"

"Yeah," she agreed, relieved that he didn't seem taken aback. "That's at least a third date conversation."

"Which leaves warnings."

"Always use a condom?" Darcy suggested, trying for humor again. If things stayed light, they couldn't be scary, right?

Clint rolled his eyes. "*Yeah*. I was thinking more about things like, if I'm having a nightmare or you need me and I'm asleep, you should wake me up by either using my last name or my codename. Don't touch me, shake me, shout at me or anything like that."

And he'd been okay with sleeping with her the previous night without warning her? "Do not startle the spysassins or you'll be folded, spindled and mutilated?" Darcy jested.

"Not funny," James contributed. "If you see me sleeping, don't come near me. Find someone else if you need me up. If I'm screaming or anything else, leave and get help."

"And no sneaking or trying to stay quiet so we can sleep," Clint added. "Just act like you usually do."

Darcy looked between them, before coming to a conclusion she didn't like. Clint's initial instructions were odd, but not really terribly strange. Violent waking of spysassins is a no-no. She didn't know why he hadn't told her earlier, but okay, she could deal, even if the implication that she would need this information in the future kinda freaked out the part of her brain that had trouble processing the idea of this lasting. James' instructions bordered on the strange, but then, Winter Soldier. Violent brainwashed spysassin. And he was warning her in advance, unlike Clint. That made sense.

But no sneaking? This sounded serious. Like more than one night. Like sharing rooms and having a relationship and all kinds of things she was beginning to want from them -- from goofy yet carefully gallant Clint and stoic but entirely too readable James. Dangerous things. "Is this going to be safe?" she asked, a little worried, physical safety being only the first concern on her mind.

"If everyone's careful. You don't have to do this," Clint told her. "If you're afraid…"

"No!" Darcy protested. Because he didn't get it. "I'm not *afraid*. Not of either of you--"

"Should be," James grumbled.

"I'm worried about you two," Darcy continued. Because that was true too and it was easier than exposing all of her stupid insecurities. "Is it going to freak you out to sleep near a civilian? 'Cause I don't want to make you guys uncomfortable either. Don't push yourselves to try to make me happy."

"I don't think you're taking this seriously, doll."

Darcy folded her arms across her chest. He had no idea how seriously she took this. How much this meant to her. "Thor pulled a doorknob off a door accidentally. He could break Jane with his pinky. He and Jane still do the no pants dance."

Clint snorted, before sobering again. "Just… make sure to say something if it's too much, okay? I've -- *we've*," he altered, without needing to check with James, "killed people while still mostly asleep. I haven't injured someone I was dating, but," he shrugged, "one night stands don't count and most of the rest were agents or knew the score."

She nodded because *of course* she knew, but curiosity compelled her to ask. "So why are you risking it? I mean, I'm honestly asking here, not 'cause I'm trying to put you down or anything, but because I don't get it and I want to -- what's in it for you? If there's no sex. Is it about potential sex in the future? Because I'm not sure I'm up for the pressure right now. My head isn't in a good place. Just saying." She would totally do it. Do it, fuck everything up and regret it forever.

Clint stared at her for a long moment while James cursed in the background.

"Really?"

Darcy held herself a little more tightly. Their reactions made her feel defensive. "What?"

"Now I'm wishin' I woulda just killed when I first shot him. Woulda almost been worth it," James muttered.

"Excuse me?" Darcy asked. "Are you trying to tell me you'd rather still be *with Hydra* than Steve have been alive to date me? Because, no. I'm not that much of a fragile snowflake."

"Said almost," James groused.

Darcy rolled her eyes. "I have issues, yes, but Steve Rogers is not the cause of them. Just the latest symptom." They had *no* idea how true that was. "Now answer the damn question already. What's in this for you?"

Clint looked away, before smiling sheepishly. "Does there have to be a reason?"

"Barton…" she threatened. Her hands trembled, fingers longing to dig into the vulnerable flesh of her thighs. "I know better than to believe you don't have one. You aren't an idiot; you only play one on TV."

James spoke first. "You gonna be upset if you find me on your couch?"

Sidetracked, Darcy clarified, "If I wake up and you're on my couch, you mean?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

"No? Why, should I be?"

James shook his head. "You asked Barton why. Not me. What's the difference?"

Darcy frowned, taken aback by his question. Wasn't it obvious? She trusted him much more than Clint because he didn't want her; without mutual desire, there was no temptation and thus no chance she could fuck it up. "I guess I assumed it was some kind of caveman protective instinct thing. I mean, it's not like you're even into being touched, much less sex."

His eyes glinted. He didn't say anything, but something about his posture, the angle of his head… it all screamed MALE suddenly. In a primal, sex-having sort of way. It wasn't like he was suddenly pressuring her for sex so much as part of him was assuring her that, yes, he was a fully healthy male and that, if all conditions were right and neither of them were fucked in the head, he would happily take her right then and there, and Clint could either move or make himself useful, because James would have only one thought on his mind.

"And I'm getting the idea I'm wrong about that," she said, wide-eyed. "So explain it to me then. If it's not the sex, what is it?"

"Aw, feelings, no," Clint complained.

"Just this once."

He gave her the 'Really?' look, asking her without words if she was really going to try to put that one over on him.

"Please?" Darcy tried.

James chuckled. "I'm not sayin' it'll work. But if I do end up asleep on your couch, it'd be because of you."

"Because of me?" Darcy's eyebrows raised as she tried to puzzle that one through. "To keep me safe?"

"No, doll. Because you're…" he looked frustrated, "*you*. Home. Safe. Things I can't remember, but I feel like I wanna, like I can, when I'm around you."

"Oh." A small smile bloomed on her face, growing larger as she absorbed what he was telling her. He liked being around her. She made him feel better, even if she wasn't in the room with him. This didn't just go one-way.

"Normal," Clint added quietly. "You're normal. I -- *we* -- our lives make it so we don't feel like people sometimes. You… you're very alive, Darcy. Very real. When you let me close, it's like you trust me. Even though you shouldn't. Even though no one should."

He examined his hands. "Maybe this was a bad idea."

Darcy's head shot up. "No, no, no. This was a great idea. Thank you for telling me, thank the both of you for baring your souls and having this uncomfortable but completely necessary conversation with me. I needed to know that. I needed to know that there's something you're getting out of this, that I'm not just taking and taking. Because I was totally about to talk myself out of this while we were still back watching TV on the other floor. I didn't know what your half of this was and chickening out was easier than giving in and feeling guilty that I was using you by not having sex with you."

"Gettin' the idea you don't think we can control ourselves," James commented.

Darcy shrugged. "No. Not really. But kind of? I never thought either of you would pressure me. But it's not about that. Not just that. It's about me and not trusting myself with you. And how I didn't think Steve was like he was. It's-- Guys want sex. Girls want… fuck if I know. Husbands? Boyfriends? Trophies?"

"You don't think you want what most women want?" Clint asked carefully.

"I know I don't."

"Then why is it so hard to accept that we don't want what most men want?"

It's was Darcy's turn to give him the 'Really?' look. "You're trying to tell me that you'd say no if I didn't have my hang-ups and actually wanted to have sex right now?"

"Well…" Clint wiggled his hand. "Maybe…"

She stared at him.

"…no."

Honest and human. Too too appealing. Darcy nodded decisively before she could change her mind. "Good. That's settled. You spending the night?" She captured first Clint's eyes, then those of James.

James inclined his head.

Clint folded his arms, pouting. "Well maybe I don't want to anymore."

Darcy laughed. She knew he didn't mean it, recognized he used humor in the same way she did. The familiarity reassured her. Sitting up, she scooted forward, putting her within reaching distance of the archer. She turned her head up and kissed his chin, smiling. "Fine. You're welcome if and when you decide you do want to," she teased. "Think you'll want to sometime in the next half hour?"

He unfolded his legs, moving forward. "Maybe. Will there be more kissing if I do?"

She stroked her chin with a finger, still smiling. "Maybe. Do you wanna stay?"

"If I say yes, do I get a kiss?"

A grumble came from behind Clint, "You two, *idjits*," then the blonde was shoved to the side, and James bent over her. His lips brushed hers, a brief gossamer impression that lasted only seconds, but left her breathless.

Then he huffed, stood up, and folded his arms, glowering down at the two of them.

"Guess we'd better get on with the program," Clint said. His words pulled her out of her half-trance. (Because. Fuck. James.) Clint sounded both rueful and amused at the same time.

Darcy giggled at his tone, then crooked her finger at Clint, gesturing him to come and plant one on her.

Gratifyingly eager, he did. He kissed her more thoroughly than James had, but Darcy felt every bit as caught up in the emotions Clint gave off. Her arms wound around his neck without her giving them permission to do so.

When he broke it off, she rested her forehead against his. Okay. Get a hold of yourself, Lewis. "Wow. You two. You're going to be the death of me."

The room went silent.

*Whoops.*

Clint didn't let go of her, but she could feel him retreat. "Not funny, sweetheart."

Darcy grimaced, kicking herself. "Yeah, sorry. My bad. No brain-mouth filter. I didn't mean it the way it sounded." She looked up at him, trying to catch his gaze. "You know you make me feel safe. Both of you." Darcy feared herself and her lack of control over her unwise impulses, not them.

Clint bumped her forehead with his before kissing her nose. It felt like forgiveness. "You feel safe, huh?"

Oh, temptation, thy name is Clint. She leaned in to kiss him again. "Uh huh."

That was a mistake, for he reached out for her, trapping her between his legs, eyes gleaming.

Darcy was a weak, weak woman. She swayed into him, anticipating another kiss. When his lips didn't meet hers, Darcy drew her head back, silently questioning him to find out why.

Clint raised his eyebrows and wiggled his fingers at her.

"Don't you dare, Barton!"

He grinned and reached out for her.

Much shrieking filled the air. A threat to pee on him did not deter Hawkeye's Fingers Of Doom, but a look of appeal thrown out to James did. Seconds later, she felt her tormentor ripped from her. Darcy found herself laughing as she watched the Winter Soldier toss a protesting archer over his shoulder, then followed him as James carried Clint into her bedroom and tossed him on the bed.

She grinned up at James. "Thank you for the turndown service. Your bedside manner is impeccable."

He reached up, index finger grazing her cheek, before turning and leaving the two of them alone in the bedroom.

Her heart clenched. Yes, cuddling was essential to Darcy's health and happiness. Yes, she wanted to climb that like a tree. And yes, she was going to get full contact with Clint in a few seconds. So why did that barely there touch from James feel like all she'd ever wanted in this world?

She shook her head. Stop counting your chickens, Lewis. Another night with someone there to beat back the emptiness. Another chance unspoiled by her freaky greed for a kind of connection that didn't exist in the real world. Maybe eventually she'd learn to stop wishing for things she couldn't have.

Fervently repressing the thought that maybe she could, because hope would hurt more than any failure with anyone else ever had.

Darcy didn't know how she'd gotten so lucky.


	2. Correspondence between SHIELD and T. Stark

To: T. Stark  
Fm: P. Coulson  
Re: Re: Operation Get That Bastard Out Of My Tower

Your proposal regarding a month's leave time for Captain Rogers has been reviewed and rejected. While no issue was found with the time frame or with arranging a leave of absence, concerns were raised as to the itinerary and objectives of this arrangement.

As a courtesy to you as interim leader of the Avengers Initiative, you are being informed that Captain Rogers has been assigned a solo mission. While the mission details are confidential, you are cleared to know that Rogers has received sealed orders to be opened after his insertion to the previously discussed location. Your offer of transportation is appreciated; however, this has provided an unexpected opportunity to correct a previously unnoticed lack of HALO certification and so standard military conveyance will be used instead.

The mission will last a minimum of thirty (30) days. No other Avengers personnel is required.

Your suggestion regarding training material was reviewed. While the motivational packet supplied by Sergeant Barnes was included as requested, more creative instructional methods have been deemed necessary. The contractor is highly motivated and mission success is anticipated.


	3. Yet another beginning

A year ago, he'd been a thing. The Asset, a weapon without a will of its own.

A month ago, he'd been the formerly brainwashed best friend of Steve Rogers and an Avenger.

A week ago, the world made sense. In a fucked up kind of way.

James vastly preferred things as they were now.

His eyes opened. He already knew where he was and why. He'd long since learned to wake from sleep without giving off any signals of having done so. Stillness came naturally to him now. Nothing odd about that. Or about his automatic assessment of his surroundings.

The strangeness came from waking from sleep and doing so without nightmares or night terrors. Peacefully coming back to consciousness. And stranger still, doing it in rooms that did not belong to him, on someone else's couch with other people present in the vicinity.

Not something he believed himself even capable of.

Until Darcy.

Until Darcy and Barton and that whole mess with the captain from the war who called him Bucky like that meant something to him. Like Rogers' use of that name branded his ownership on James' soul.

It didn't.

It never could.

Because he'd slept.

James laid there, staring at nothing, eyes unblinking. He'd slept. Still fully dressed, his weapons in place. He'd woken without the ever-present fear. Without *knowing* that something terrible stalked him, without having been forced to lose everything that mattered to him over and over and over again, without the sick horror of realizing that he was the one who destroyed that which mattered to him. Feeling flesh part under his hands, heads coming off of bodies. And the satisfaction. Worst of all, even more so than the helplessness and the rage and the terror, was the satisfaction.

Thinking about it brought with it a little of the darkness and he swallowed, trying to recapture the peace he'd woken up with.

That only caused his gorge to rise.

Standing, he moved toward the exit. To leave. But instead found himself walking to the open door leading into Darcy's bedroom.

There. Two figures sleeping in bed, one blonde, one brunette. The woman on her side, facing him, expression slack, peaceful. Trusting, sleeping soundly, even with him nearby. Behind her, hair in spiky disarray, a man also slept. His to protect. Both of them. He felt that instinctually.

His body didn't want to move. Neither away nor closer. One felt like a chasm of abandonment opening under his feet, the other like meat dangled before a starving dog. Too good to be true and probably poisoned.

Movement shattered the moment spent lost in his broken inner world. Barton cracked open an eye, the archer acknowledging James' presence. His arm remained still over Darcy's side as he checked James' posture to determine whether any action was required.

Finding nothing, the archer raised his eyebrow.

James didn't move. Didn't blink. Didn't speak.

But Barton read something in his eyes. What, he didn't know, but it had to be something because he squeezed his lips together and blew James a kiss before fluttering his eyelashes at him.

Punk.

Having the blonde give him shit settled something inside him. Removed the nausea. Gave him something familiar to anchor on.

He caught the jerk's kiss in one hand, then pressed it to his heart.

Barton looked gobsmacked for about a half a second before giving him a glare through narrowed eyes that promised retribution once he no longer had to stay quiet to avoid waking Darcy.

James smirked back at him. 

Yeah. He was fucked.

And he couldn't be happier about it.


	4. Enter Deadpool

Normally when you get a message asking you to come up to the roof of the skyscraper you work in, you probably think 'fire drill'. Or something.

However this particular message came on a card accompanying a bouquet of colorful flowers addressed directly to Darcy. Darcy didn't recognize any of the blooms, but she liked the combination of the three varieties; it was unique and that made it special. It wasn't difficult to guess who had sent it.

The card read, "On the roof, 3 p.m.?"

Darcy smiled and pressed her face into the flowers. She had a date.

If it had occurred to her that the flowers might mean something and it had also occurred to her to ask Jarvis what the flowers were (columbine, bird's foot trefoil and almond), she might have done things differently.

But then again she might not have.

A promise of revenge for deceived lovers could have been sent by anyone after all.

As it was, at 2:58 p.m. on that fine New York afternoon, Darcy stepped out onto the rooftop to find a large red arrow directing her to the left, away from the helipad/Quinjet landing site and toward the pebbled area more suited to an outdoor garden party.

Her heart beat faster. The arrow suggested Clint had a hand in this. What could it be?

Turning left, she wove past the maintenance area and out onto what might be best described as a patio. A white cloth covered table awaited her, set with fancy dishware and more flowers.

Despite herself, she squealed with happiness and surprise. Then bit her lip, hoping no one had heard that. Because majorly uncool.

Hands covered her eyes as someone snuck up on her from behind. "Surprise!"

Darcy noticed several things all at once. Male. Voice she didn't know. Gloves on both hands. She had been lured out of Jarvis' immediate radius to somewhere she was vulnerable.

Her reaction thus was understandable.

She tased the fucker.

By the time the Iron Man suit rose over the side of the building, she'd gone from rage, to shock, to nudging the man covered in an head-to-toe red and black uniform with her foot.

"Chill, dude," she told Tony -- she was pretty sure it was Tony, but it could have been Jarvis auto-piloting a suit for all she knew -- "He's down already."

Iron Man landed and the face mask went up. "Darcy…"

She was right. It was Tony. He sounded exasperated. "Yeah?" she drawled back. "Tased a God, remember?"

"Do you even know who that is?"

"Some weirdo with a leather fetish?"

"No. Well, yes, that too. But that's Deadpool."

Darcy prodded him with her foot again. "Feels pretty solid to me."

"He's a dangerously insane mercenary with a healing factor that means he can recover from being completely dismembered in a few hours, which means he's faking being unconscious right now."

"Ssh! I was enjoying that!" the man on the ground said.

"Eek!" Darcy jumped back. Then moved further back. "Okay, officially creeped out now. What's going on? What's he want with me?"

One of Tony's repulsors began giving off an ominous hum.

The man, now identified as Deadpool, sat up. "Thank you for asking!" he said in a voice alarmingly similar to that of a game show host. "I'm here to court, woo, date and otherwise press my suit by discussing plans of gruesome, but not unspeakable, revenge against a certain star spangled creep over a nice meal. Whaddaya say, toots?"

The ominous hum grew louder, joined by a threatening glow. "As the guy who's going to blast your head off, I say get the hell off my building and don't come back. Leave Lewis alone."

With that, Tony snapped the face plate back in place, then grabbed Deadpool and walked him over the edge of the roof. "Say bye-bye to the nice lady, Wade."

Darcy watched, open-mouthed, as the red-clad man waved cheerfully at her before making the phone sign and mouthing 'Call me', even as Tony let go.

"Tony!" she snapped, rushing to the edge and looking down. "What the fuck, dude? You just killed that guy."

"Yeah, I know," he said, turning to her, "only thing that gets through to him."

With that, Iron Man launched up, Tony disappearing over the side, presumably in the direction of the newest macabre decoration on the sidewalks of New York City.

Darcy blinked. Tried to regain her equilibrium. Swayed.

Vertigo or shock or maybe both nearly overwhelmed her. Fortunately, she was able to stumble to the elegantly set table still standing untouched despite the flurry of superhero activity.

Taking a seat, she examined the flatware, slightly glassy-eyed. A folded drawing served as a napkin. She reached out. When she opened it, she saw a stick figure, presumably Captain America given the red, white and blue circle next to it, being stabbed? penetrated? by an octopus. Still, it had the guy's number.

"What even is my life?"


	5. Hawkeye's Unofficial Top Secret (THIS MEANS YOU NAT) Diary (MISSION LOG!!  It's a mission log!)

Pots of coffee successfully consumed: 2 (Darcy's pot plus bonus full pot in common room, score!)

Quivers shot: 0 (Aww, arrows, no.)

Avengers alerts: 0 (Booooring. Not that I *need* the bruises though.)

Dogs walked: 1  
Number of sticks thrown: 3  
Number of throws: 23  
Number of pizza slices bought: 4  
Slices fed to dog: 2  
Photo ops: 0  
(Park visit v.v.good. 10/10 would do again.)

Intruder alerts: 1  
Number of attackers: 1  
Number of people in danger: 1  
Person in danger: Darcy  
Number of Avengers available: 1 (Not me. FML.)  
Distance from tower: Too fucking far

Intruder deaths: 4  
Deaths caused by me: 1 (Not enough. Had to take turns.)

Punches thrown by rescued damsel: 2 (Both at Stark, so dodged a bullet there)  
Kisses bestowed by damsel: 2  
Number bestowed on me: Also 2. (Suck it, Cap!)

Chick films watched: 1 (WHY, NAT, WHY??)

Invitations from Darcy to bed: 0  
Invitations to Darcy: 0 (Dumbass.)

Total hours elapsed between going to bed and waking up in the morning: 12  
Number of attempts to sleep: 4  
Work-outs: 1  
Number of times jerked off: 2  
Showers: 2  
Movies watched: 4  
Maximum number of minutes watched per movie: 15 (It still counts!)

Total hours of sleep gotten: 3 (Dumbass.)  
Location of sleep: Darcy's couch. (Dumbass.)

Number of pots of coffee successfully consumed: 0 (Woke up before Darcy; no coffee. Barnes took the last cup from the common room pot; no coffee. Bastard smirked.)

Bouquets of flowers given to Darcy: 1  
Invitations to bed received from Darcy: 1  
Number of bouquets bought: 0  
Number of cards in my handwriting: 1  
Hush money paid to Nat: $500 and two IOUs)

Dumbass. (SHUT UP NAT!!!)


	6. Two texts and some cookies

DL: Okay, so I'm not sure if you're a complete maniac or just partly one, but I have to ask, what was up with the octopus?  
DP: I was hungry!  
DL: So you drew a picture of Cap getting disemboweled by an octopus because you were hungry? Dude.  
DP: So you're not with the aquarium? Because I really did need all of those dolphins. And I returned them in good condition.  
DL: No, I'm the one you tried to have lunch with on the top of Stark Tower. Way to pitch the woo. Do all of your blind dates end in murder? 'Cause I think you need to be less kidnappy. Just a suggestion.  
DP: Ooooo. You DID get my number. Vavavooom. You like me, you really like me!  
DL: Yeah, about that. Not making me more comfortable about texting you beeteedubs.  
DP: [Series of emojis, heavily featuring heart eyes, tacos and eggplants]  
DL: Okay, I'm outta here. Next time call first, k?  
DP: [Thumbs up emoji]

"So, Deadpool," Darcy said conversationally to the dough she was kneading. "Dangerous, not dangerous? Completely insane, mostly insane or just pretending? Opinions please."

The apparently empty kitchen did not answer her.

Jarvis however did. "I'm afraid that much of the information on that individual is classified, Miss Lewis."

She waved a sticky hand in the air. "Like I care. And I wasn't asking you anyway."

No one replied. The faint sound of music coming from her unhooked iPod headphones and the low level thrum of electronics predominated the room.

"Because, y'know, I get the idea that you all don't like him very much, but that he isn't a completely bad guy or you wouldn't have let him go with a warning. It was a total dick move to make me think that you were setting up a romantic date, but without knowing what he wanted, maybe that was the best approach?" Making the dough into a round shape, she placed it in a bowl that was already greased and set to the side. She washed her hands, wiped them on a towel, then dampened the towel further and covered the bowl with it. "That's done for now. Gonna help a girl out, or are you gonna watch me make the meatloaf too?"

"Darcy…" Clint's voice came from somewhere over her head.

"Aha!" she crowed triumphantly. "I knew you were watching."

"Maybe I just now overheard you."

She cleaned off the counter, in preparation for making the next stage of the meal. "Dude, this is the first time in two days that I've been allowed into a room by myself. Of course you're watching."

"Not true."

"Uh huh." Darcy's voice was full of skepticism. "Because Thor usually escorts me to and from the elevators. And Natasha always cases a room before I'm allowed to enter it. Tony usually does his engineering on the couch over there when I'm making food."

Silence answered her.

She continued working, getting out a new bowl and retrieving the ground beef. "And if that didn't tip me off, it got reaaaally obvious when Tony started babbling about having an amazing new idea that he just had to work on right then jumping up before seeing me and getting the most awesome guilty look I've ever seen. So, yeah, I have an idea."

"Fucking Stark."

Darcy giggled. "So, Deadpool. What's the dealio?"

When she looked up again, Clint was leaning against the refrigerator, arms crossed across his chest. Yum, arms!

The scowl wasn't nearly as attractive though. "He's a mercenary. SHIELD uses him from time to time. Canadian with a military background. Small potatoes until he got cancer and ended up as an experimental test subject. Gave him a healing factor and a case of the crazies."

"Like Hydra? With James?" Darcy asked, glancing up from her work.

He wiggled his hand. "Little yes, little no. Weapon X tried to turn people into weapons. Inhumane methods. Large death toll. But Wade never worked for them."

"Wade?"

"Deadpool. Full name, Wade Winston Wilson."

"I'm not seeing where the overwhelming danger factor comes in." He made a scoffing sound and she scowled at him. "Not dissing you here. I just wanna know how cautious I need to be and why. You're all acting like he's worse than Hydra and Doom combined. Which, okay, if that's the sitch, then that's the sitch. But I didn't expect to get attacked here. And if that's going to keep happening, some planning should probably be done."

Clint grimaced, but nodded. "That's fair."

"So after he left me his number, I texted him."

"You did what?"

Darcy rolled her eyes. "You heard me. I. Texted. Him. No physical contact was made. No useful information was exchanged either, which is yet another reason I need to know more about him. Unless there really was some kind of dolphin-related crime recently."

Clint mumbled something that sounded like "Barnes is going to kill me when he gets back".

She hid a smile. James would do no such thing. She couldn't put a name to the Winter Soldier's feelings for the archer. Fondness crossed with… exasperation? Kinda? Not respect exactly, but that was there too. Glaring on the other hand… there would be a lot of glaring. The look she imagined James would give her when he learned of what happened would probably outdo both Tony's and Thor's lectures on her disregard for her own safety. Still, if she wasn't safe in the Tower, was anywhere safe?

"So should I invite him for dinner?"

"Barnes?"

Darcy looked to the ceiling for reassurance. "No. Wade. Find out what he wanted. 'Cause I'm getting the idea that you all have no idea."

She checked the oven to make sure that it was preheated to the right temperature and got out a pan for the meatloaf. When she returned to her station, Clint still hadn't responded.

"Clint?"

He scruffed a hand through his hair. "I don't know what to tell you. It's a good idea, tactically speaking, 'cause you're right. We don't know. But I don't want to let him anywhere near you. He's unstable. If he fixates on you, there's no way of knowing what he'll do."

"Getting the feeling that point's already gone by."

"Yeah," he grumbled.

"And something has to happen, because having the Avengers stalk me around the tower 24/7 is getting to be a bit ridonkulous."

She glanced over at Clint, who had his arms crossed again, head tucked close to his chest, lower lip protruding. "Are… are you… *pouting*?"

"I only got to kill him once," he protested. "I didn't even get to use my arrows."

"Aww, poor baby," she cooed. "Want me to make some cookies, rub your shoulders and tell you how much of a manly man you are?"

"What kind of cookies?"

DL: You still wanna come over and eat?  
DP: [Taco emoji, tongue emoji, taco emoji]  
DL: Hoping you just suggested Mexican, dude.  
DP: Is there any other kind of food?  
DL: I was thinking noodles. Pan-fried maybe.  
DP: Noodles pan-fried in a burrito shell? Sounds crazy, but it just might work.  
DL: No, you dork. Regular noodles. Like in a bowl. Anyway, is 1 okay?  
DP: Maybe. I get hungry. Why not ALL THE NOODLES?! Will there be decorations in honor of our noodly overlords?  
DL: Thor would totally eat the FSM. See you tomorrow. Use the lobby, k?  
DP: Go in via the front door? That's brilliant! They'll never suspect my evil plan then!  
DL: Dude… [Steaming bowl emoji, 1 o'clock emoji]  
DP: [Thumbs up emoji, skull emoji, poop emoji] + L away!


	7. Notes from the Great Beyond

Skye stood next to Melinda May, watching as the form of Steve Rogers, Captain America, was rapidly whipped away from the plane's open door.

"You going to toss him a parachute?"

"Thinking about it."

****

"So that consultant of yours, the creative one?" Tony asked.

"Yes?" Coulson said cautiously.

"You wouldn't happen to have hired Deadpool, would you? Because I thought you were reasonably smart for a suit, Agent Agent, and given that I just got done removing Deadpool from the Tower for kidnapping and attempting to woo Darcy Lewis, I'm getting the idea that you aren't all that smart at all. If you know what I mean."

"Attempting to woo…"

"Romantic candlelight dinner, flowers, the works. You know."

Coulson face palmed.

****

The second sheet of a handwritten letter.

"That's why, Captain Rogers, I am absolutely certain that you have nothing in common with the Stevie Rogers I knew in Brooklyn. I am sorry that your time in your ice disturbed your brain processes so much that our tales of our similar but disparate youths caused you to create a shared landscape in which we were friends. While I am grateful that you may have had this comfort in your ordeal, I hope you may be able to understand how your insistence on the reality of this fictitious version of the past have caused pain for myself and the people I cherish. The past is past; it is the present we have to live in. For those reasons, I feel it best if we limit our contact to the strictly professional. I hope you will not tarnish my own fragmented memories of a great war captain by requiring legal action to be taken. Sincerely yours, Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.

****

A scowling gargoyle wrapped its talons around his neck and dragged Clint into the shadows.

"Barton."

"That was not a girly scream," Clint defended.

"How'd some punk get the jump on you with giving our girl flowers and taking her out to dinner?"

"What? That's not… Wait, *our* girl?"

"*My* girl then."

"What…? Wait, no!! Barnes!"


	8. Deadpool and Darcy Do Lunch

The day of her meeting with Deadpool came. It followed a confusing night. She'd made meatloaf and homemade bread rolls (with cinnamon buns for dessert) for James' homecoming, partly because she'd missed him, but mostly in a 'please don't yell at me' gesture.

It worked. Kinda. He didn't yell. The sad puppy look nearly killed her though.

Clint brought her flowers yet again -- she wasn't sure what was up with that -- yeah, she got the jealousy angle -- another guy had gotten her flowers, but it had been a ploy, not a real thing. Not that she was turning the flowers down -- she liked the pink carnations. It just seemed… awfully romantic for a relationship that she'd pegged as not being like that.

That worried her. Darcy couldn't handle expectations right now. She'd been happy with the boundaries that the three of them had laid out -- no pressure, no sex, just supplying each other with touch, company and affection. Not knowing what was happening made her nervous.

James was fine. Safe. She got a good vibe from him even with the whole no touch zone he had going on. He understood limits. She'd *thought* Clint did too, but -- flowers. Flowers said romance, said attachment, said things she wasn't ready to fuck up again just yet.

So really it was a good idea she'd set up this lunch date with a nearly complete stranger, because it got her mind off of worrying about making a mess of her life yet again and her focus back onto actually messing it up. Where it belonged. What?

"Stay in this room," Tony told her, the last of her overprotective guardians to warn her about the unwiseness of her not-actually-getting-any-booty booty call. She could swear that none of them understood that it was better to have a supervised meeting between her and the crazy person in a safe space rather than have aforementioned crazy person potentially Darcy-napping her. "Jarvis will be listening of course. I'm pretty sure I've got Wilson's teleport device locked out so he can't use it inside the Tower at all, but this floor is specially shielded. He'll be disarmed--"

"I get it," Darcy told him. She'd been through this three times already. "Constant monitoring, jack booted thugs, explosive consequences if anyone twitches…"

Tony shook a finger at her. "I *will* send you to your room without supper, young lady."

She rolled her eyes. "It's fine. I got it. Clint and James already went over all this with me." She made a shooing motion at him. "Go on, get. I need to warm up lunch."

The room designated for today's meet up had been chosen primarily for its location on the same floor as Tony's workshop. It contained a kitchenette and a small sitting area. She suspected it had been intended to serve as a break room, but the designer had failed to realize that Tony didn't take breaks. Which struck her as especially ironic considering that Tony frequently bragged about having designed the Tower.

A loud voice raised in protest caused her to turn back around.

"Hey, hands off the goods! I have an gen-u-wine invitation. But no wine. Do you think I should have brought wine? Pinot Noir is the safe choice; goes with everything, but who wants to drink oak? If I wanted to drink a tree, Canadian Finest all the way--"

Darcy saw the red and black clad man from the rooftop incident stumble after apparently having been pushed through the door.

"Good timing," she told him. "This doesn't take long to cook."

"Of course I have good timing." Now moving smoothly, the mercenary came to lean against a counter. "I was made in Switzerland! No, that's a lie. Good old Canadian clockwork here."

Now that she didn't have to be afraid for her life, Darcy took the time to give him a full look over before averting her eyes back to her cooking. Yeah. He was built. Like all of the men in her life of late, she found him physically attractive. His posture and the tight fabric of his costume showed off impressive musculature. Drool-worthy. Despite constant exposure, Darcy still had not become immune, although she'd gotten better about not letting on that she'd noticed. Couldn't see his face 'cause of the mask, but that was par for the course in the superhero business.

"Your boyfriend dropped by," Deadpool said casually. "Racked up quite the dry cleaning bill. Plus custom tailoring work doesn't come cheap, you know."

What the hell? "My boyfriend? Dude, that could be literally anyone." Darcy grabbed the two bowls she'd set aside and divvied up the noodles, then added the broth and finally bean sprouts, corn and a pat of butter. Miso ramen. Boring, but comfort food nonetheless.

"You're dating Spider-Man?"

"Did Spider-Man beat you up?" she asked handing him a bowl. "Chopsticks?"

He made grabby fingers at her, so she passed him a set. "No, that was Tall Dark and Deadly. Don't Tickle Me Elmo. Robo Time Cop."

"Oh, James. Not my boyfriend." She moved to the couch to eat.

Deadpool followed her. "Spouse? Co-dependent heterosexual life partner?"

"Guy I'm totally head over heels for, who's too traumatized to let anyone touch him?" She broke her chopsticks apart and tried the noodles. Good. Not too spicy, just enough really. Her guest settled into a chair placed at a right angle to the couch.

"Co-dependent asexual life partner?"

"Pretty sure he's not asexual. If he could do the deed, the deed would've been done." Darcy inhaled her noodles, gesturing with the chopsticks at the same time when it looked like Deadpool was going to interrupt her.

He did it anyway. "Darcy Does Dark and Deadly? Or Dark and Deadly Does Darcy?"

"You have *no* idea. The things I would do for that man." She shrugged, letting go of the images. "Probably for the best that it can't happen. Sex would just fuck everything up." Whoops. That slipped out. Bitter much, girl?

"Ooh, let's talk about sex, baby."

Oh, good, he didn't seem to notice. "I'll even let you touch yourself," Darcy riposted, willing to take the diversion. "Just wait til I'm done eating. Don't want to spill my soup laughing. You gonna eat?" She'd noticed him fidgeting with the bowl but not doing anything with it.

"Ah--" He only hesitated a second before segueing into rapid conversation. "I need to let that sick burn wear off first. You know what it's like trying to eat with a burned tongue. Ick."

The second was all Darcy needed to grasp the situation. "Oh! Masked identity. My bad. You should have just said something." She swiveled on the couch, facing away from him. "That better? Just poke me when you're done."

Silence settled over them, only the noises of eating heard. Then an empty bowl hit the coffee table and spun around, settling as the chopsticks landed neatly in it.

Darcy didn't turn. She heard him move, presumably to readjust his mask and get comfortable. It still caught her off-guard when he lithely vaulted over her and settled himself against the other corner of the couch, staring at her, his feet up on the center cushion, knees bent.

"So feel free to kick me in the nads if I'm being offensive -- because at least then you'll have touched my 'nads (could you put on heels first?) -- I know why I have issues with sex (full body condom anyone?) -- but can you say white girl problems?"

Darcy turned to face him, putting a knee up on the cushion beside her. She flexed her ankle meaningfully as though she really was going to kick him. He didn't retract his statement though. So he'd meant to shit all over her confession? She hunched her shoulders. Struggling for a light tone, she quipped, "Yeah. I know. Tits or GTFO, right?"

Deadpool held up both hands. "Whoa, there, little lady. Tits never have to get the fuck out. Of the room, a brassiere or anywhere else. Especially my hands. But only when fully consensual, 'cause that's how I roll."

She prodded him with one toe, but she was smiling now. The red and black clad man might be dangerous, might be crazy, but she liked the way he spoke and she could tell he was utterly sincere. In a flippant, sarcastic, 'my issues have issues' kind of way.

"So enlighten me, dear muse. Why does sex fuck everything up for you?"

"You sure you want to hear my tale of woe? I warn you now, it doesn't get any less stupid." She finished the solid portion of her meal and decided, what the hell? Why not slurp up the broth and be completely disgusting in front of someone who didn't already know exactly how abominable her manners could be?

"More stupid AND sex? This is my lucky day." He clapped his hands together, looking delighted.

She laughed. "Okay, fine. Let's pretend we're girlfriends. So. I've had multiple crappy boyfriends and all the crappy sex. Things would start out all right -- admiring and touching and wanting and everybody happy -- and then the guy would get off and that was it. No further interest in me personally. Only the minimum effort necessary put in -- probably to make sure I'd come back, not that it worked -- and fucking entitled about how making any effort meant that they deserved sex. Oh, yeah, and resentful when it was clear that wasn't enough for me."

"Still not seeing the problem. Sounds like the old get the milk then kill the cow problem to me."

Darcy plopped her empty bowl down. "Exactly! What the fuck is wrong with me that I can't accept that? That's the way dating works. Everybody knows that. It'd make sense if I was holding out for a commitment first, but it's not like I wanted to get married either. Who'd want to marry jerks like that? But nobody gets my idea of what sex is supposed to be like. So yeah. Sex -- sex with me -- fucks everything up."

Deadpool looked intrigued. Martial artist equals perfect muscle control. Perfect muscle control with no desire to control it? Incredibly eloquent body language. "Tell me more. No one ever wants to talk sex with me. I'm hallucinating again, aren't?"

She shrugged. "Maybe? Does it matter as long as you're enjoying it?"

"On principle, I want to say yes. On the other foot, let's go back to talking about sex."

"Fine." She regarded him seriously. Darcy'd spent years with these issues, hugging her pain to her and not sharing it because no one wanted to know and even if they had, her issues were weird enough that no one would understand. And here she was, about to share her private business with someone else just because they'd asked? Yeah. Fucked up Darcy. That was her.

She'd never put this into words even in her own head, but when was she going to get a better opportunity? Complete stranger, notoriously insane, who no one took seriously and who thought he was hallucinating anyway?

"I always felt like sex the way most people have it is, like, one-sided. Especially with guys. They'd take what they wanted and they didn't care what I wanted back. They gave me what they expected to have to pay and felt that was more than they needed to do. That I should be happy with what I got. And I don't mean that I wanted romance or commitment. I mean they needed to want to be with *me*, Darcy, and they didn't, weren't interested in--"

She wet her lips. Her audience remained silent, inviting confidences. "It isn't supposed to be like that. I don't think it is. It shouldn't be. Sex is… if it's done right, it's a gift. It's sharing and connecting and comfort and knowing you're wanted and feeling good emotionally and mentally, yeah, physical pleasure too, but the physical part of it is the least part."

"If the physical part is the least part, then you've seen some really small weiners. Mine comes in extra large," Deadpool blurted out, before clapping his hands over his mouth. He then mimed locking his mouth with a key and tossing the key away before staring at her expectantly.

"I know, right?" She pulled out an invisible key and handed it to him, waving at his mouth. "Dude, just say what you're going to say. I don't mind. I thought what you said was funny."

"Usually at this point, most women have slapped me for being a pervert."

Darcy laughed merrily. "Hah! Unlike most women, I *like* guys. And guys are perverts. It's their most lovable quality."

"Will you marry me?"

"Pretty sure I'm not getting married until someone sticks a happily ever after onto me. Or until non-traditional polyamorous committed relationships become a thing."

"So you prefer a long engagement."

Darcy held out her hand, studying her fingers. "I don't see a ring."

He started patting his waist. "They took my pouches," he pouted. "I know I had one somewhere. Ring. Ring pop. Top to a soda can. Cock ring. Something."

"Chill, dude. I didn't say yes. This is like the second time I've talked to you. I don't even know where you stand on the Coke/Pepsi issue."

"Do the Dew."

She leaned forward and fist bumped him. "So yeah. Those are my issues. Pathetic, I know. I keep wanting sex to be about two people sharing themselves with each other -- on purpose, because they want to -- on every level they feel like sharing. But when I say that, I can feel everyone giving me this look like, 'How insane is she? Does she believe in unicorns and soulmates, too?' Ya know?"

"Oh, do I ever."

"I mean, I have more sympathy for guys who are willing to exchange something the woman actually wants for sex than I do the guys I've dated. Not that I'm for the current institution of prostitution 'cause that's not about willing exchange either, but if you're going to keep gifting someone with yourself over and over again and they're not even open to the idea of something more than slot A and tab B much less bringing more than their body to the table, then what's the point?"

She leveled Deadpool with a look that invited him to comment. "Like, hello?"

"I really want to be your Secret Santa."

Darcy raised an eyebrow. "Non sequitur much?"

"Non sequitur always."

She rolled her eyes, but went with it. He'd been nice and listened to her word vomit; she could follow his random. "So secret Santa gifts. What's your fav?"

"I usually get bullets. Sometimes even not the ones that lodge in a bone first."

"Dude." She bent forward and patted his ankle. Unlike most of the Avengers (other than Thor), this guy gave off a touchy feely vibe. "You need some better friends."

"I know, right? So -- in the interests of propositioning a shiny new friend slash fiancee for non-prostitution related sexy times, what does Santa need to bring you to get you to sit on his lap?"

Darcy snorted, before bursting into laughter. This guy was a hoot. "I take it back. You're my new best friend."

He shook a finger here. "Nuh-uh-uh! Not if you want onto the naughty list. And trust me, you want on my naughty list."

She cocked her head at him. "You actually wanna know? What I would--"

"--what you would want Santa to bring you? Yes. Yes, I do."

She gave him a long look, head to toe. When she met the white eyes of his mask again, she told him, "Not that I'm saying I'm interested, 'cause it's nowhere near Christmas. But if it was and I were, what would Santa want from Mrs. Claus?"

"I asked you first."

"I asked you last."

"Curses. Foiled again." He folded his arms across his chest in a sulk. "Fine. Be that way. All smug with your beautiful breasts and your Yuletide charm. I suffer from a rare disorder known as Radioactivius Sharpei-ius, where every part of me looks like a naked mole rat that's been left too long on the hot dog roller at 7-11."

"Self-hate. I dig it." Tendrils of empathy tugged at her.

"Emetophilia isn't my thing. Sad, really, because I could make a *bundle*."

"Yeah. Cybersex doesn't do much for me either. Erotica is fine, but typing 'oh' ten times with different amounts of Os and Hs gets dull fast."

"Don't kids these days know anything? Emetophilia. Vomit porn."

"Oh! Ew. Yeah, not my thing either." Darcy put the pieces of the conversation together in her head along with the backstory she'd been given. Ouch. Serious appearance issues. Scars? Deformities? She didn't know how much he was exaggerating, but she didn't think it was by much. Still, even with that, he seemed to want something... "Ohhh. I get it. You're saying you have some weird requirements and I have some weird requirements, so maybe we could work something out. Is that what you're trying to tell me?"

"Ding ding ding!"

She beamed at him, pleased to have gotten it right and happy to be validated. She liked being around this guy. He was pleasingly random *and* gave good strokes. Plus, male. "You're serious, aren't you?" She didn't wait for him to confirm it; she could tell that he was. An exchange, pure and simple. Could she do that? Might be worth the risk, and it looked like he had as much to lose and gain as she did. Should she do it? She had something good going with James and Clint and she didn't want to risk it for a guy she hardly even knew, but... something about him and his obvious insecurity appealed to her. Like maybe he needed her? Curse her vulnerability to emotional kryptonite. "Lemme think about it, kay? Not saying no. Just… I never thought it'd actually come up."

"Are the men on your planet retarded? Would you like to come back with me to my universe?"

Darcy shook her head. "Nah, I like it here for the most part. It's just… With regular guys. There's this thing. You can talk to them or you can have sex with them, but not both. It's like having their body naked at the same time as their brain is physically impossible."

Deadpool nodded knowingly. "We don't have enough blood to work both at the same time."

"It's not like I'm in a bad situation right now. I just… I've kinda mentioned it to Clint -- the current thing I have going, since James is a no go -- but I get the feeling that both of them are, like, 'we are superior men who know how to treat a woman right and so no discussion of these things is needed'. Which, yeah, I'm willing to play along, because they *are* superior. But I'm still pretty sure it's going to end messily when it comes time to get in the sack with either of them if we haven't set down terms. But I want to respect their need to be spontaneous and show off their mad skills. It's a fucking mess."

"Hello, Debbie Downer. Nice to meet you. I'm Wade Wilson, friendly neighborhood mercenary. Available for special occasions, weddings and funerals."

"Nice to meet you, Wade. Come here often?"

"If I came here once, I'd come here more often. Care to add to my spank bank with your Christmas wish list, Mrs. Claus?"

So he wanted to know what she wanted in return? And, given the conversation so far, wouldn't be shocked no matter what she said? Darcy steepled her empty hands. Huh. On one hand, she had imaginary perfect rainbows and hearts soulmate level sex with two guys she desperately wanted, and on the other, a potential straight up exchange with someone who understood being deviant as well as she did. Was it worth the risk? They were only talking about it, after all, not actually doing the deed. "Okay. You asked for it. Don't hold me to any of this, though, 'cause I'm just spit balling here."

"And I'm free balling here, so I'm not going to cast any stones."

She gave him an indulgent look. "Dude, you are so good for my ego."

"Curious that. You aren't concerned that I'm trying to get into your pants? Because if you haven't noticed yet, I am."

Darcy shook her head. She could read him pretty well already. It was why she felt so comfortable with him. Matching self esteem issues. "You're not. You wanna. You like the goods. But you'd be shocked if I did anything about it."

Deadpool sat up straighter. "That's a filthy lie."

"No, it's not. For one, you're teasing me. For another, it's not."

He cocked his head. "Do you have a secret set of yellow pajamas stashed away in a closet somewhere? With black Xs on them maybe?"

"Noooo," she said, shaking her head. "Can't say that I do."

"No bites from overemotional psychic animals?"

"Are you going somewhere with this?" She got the feeling he could avoid making a point in a way that would drive even Natasha mad. "Because if you're avoiding the sex talk, kudos for subtle deflection. Five out of ten. Almost got away with it."

ealll

He snapped his fingers. "Damn those meddling kids."

Darcy leaned forward, letting her hand fall squarely on his thigh. Ripped, muscular thigh. Dude was built. No hardship at all to touch him, but kinda mean to use it to prove her point.

Deadpool froze. With the mask and the suit, she couldn't tell if he was still breathing. Just one more piece of data cementing her theory as fact. Why was everyone worth wanting so fucked in the head?

"So I may be wrong here, but I'm getting the idea that if I keep going, you're gonna bolt. And I don't want that 'cause I also get the idea that you actually meant what you said earlier. If you do, maybe we can work something out?" Inwardly, Darcy winced. Okay, that sounded slutty. She already had two guys on a string and here she was propositioning a third? Yeah. She was gonna need to start wearing a scarlet A sometime real soon.

His hand went to his neck, pulling at the collar of his suit. He jerked on it, pulling the fabric out, but didn't reveal his face.

Darcy waited for whatever he was going to do, because that couldn't be it.

He sat up from his casual sprawl and she removed her hand and sat back expectantly.

A gloved hand covered her eyes. Hearing the rustle of cloth, she closed them obediently. He didn't want her seeing his face. That was cool.

Lips touched hers. Something felt odd about their texture; not chapped, but not exactly normal either. It wasn't good or bad, just different.

A tentative touch turned into a cautious probing. When Darcy didn't back away or flinch, his mouth slanted over hers, testing her response further. She felt his tongue flick experimentally at her lip and opened her mouth under his.

That got a reaction. He responded hungrily, as if dying for contact and intimacy. It only lasted for a moment. As soon as she started to lean into him, he leapt back.

When she opened her eyes again, he was nowhere to be seen. Yeah, she pegged him correctly. Intimacy issues up the wazoo. Why did that make him *more* attractive, not less? What was wrong with her anyhow?

"Good talk? Call me?" Darcy said to the empty room before standing. She picked up the empty bowls, returning to the kitchenette to wash them.

From the outside of the tower, crouched on the ledge on the other side of the window, unseen by the woman inside, Deadpool twisted his hands together. "Oh, we wants it. The precious."

As he remained there, a small dot formed over his hunched form. It grew rapidly larger and darker, the shadow eventually swallowing him entirely and causing him to look up.

Surprise rounded his mouth under his mask. "Did I order take-out?"

A hard blow sent Deadpool tumbling into empty space. "For Asgard!"

"Just for that, you're not getting a tip!"


	9. Bad Dog No Biscuit

Dishes put away, Darcy could stall no longer. Time to face the music.

She felt vaguely embarrassed given the subjects that she and Deadpool had talked about. The sex stuff especially, although, given the public nature of what had happened between her and Steve, she probably shouldn't bother being embarrassed anymore. Once everyone knows your ex thinks you're a whore, what's the problem with proving he was right? 

God she hopes they still like her. Jane will. Thor will. She has that. The others?

Okay, Tony would probably find it hysterical.

And the guys… yeah. That hurt, knowing she'd probably disappointed them by proving she's a slut. Face facts after all. She did just proposition a relative stranger. True, she'd warned both James and Clint about that tendency of hers and she hadn't been lying at the time, but she'd known for a long time that the best way to lie was to tell the truth, because no one ever believed it. If they felt misled, well, that was fair. She was a fuck up. That much she'd always known.

Darcy put her chin up and opened the door.

James, as expected, glowered with arms crossed. To be fair, that was his default expression; the actual emotion could only be read in his eyes and he was looking at the floor, not her.

Clint… Clint looked… concerned? Like he worried about her and how she felt right now, maybe? Or something else? His expression said troubled, but about what?

Only after finding them both did she take in Jane, looking worried and bouncing from foot to foot, the sound of Tony swearing in the background and Natasha staring at her with no expression whatsoever in her eyes.

"What?" Darcy asked. "If this is about the sex, I can explain."

"Why did Deadpool call you a mutant?"

Darcy froze. "What?" She glanced from face to face, seeking an explanation, but none was forthcoming.

Then Jane lost her battle with her patience and flung herself at Darcy. "Is it true? You know you could have told me. I'm not against it -- being a mutant is probably the only thing that could have got me into a different field than astrophysics."

"Are you people crazy?" She almost wished they'd asked about the sex. "Nothing was even *said* about my DNA makeup."

"Darcy, are you a mutant?" Natasha asked point-blank.

"I don't-- you guys… are you serious?? No! Of course not." Still having trouble processing the accusation, the seriousness in which they were taking it -- like she'd planted a bomb somewhere and they needed to know the location -- and how out of left field the question had even come, Darcy's mouth kept saying what her head was thinking. "How *would* I know? It's not like anyone in my family ever said anything about being mutants or anything. And you would think that, if I were a mutant, something would have happened and I would have noticed. Is there any point in even being a mutant if you didn't get a superpower? Besides, it's not possible." She bit her lip. "Well, not as far as I know. I never met the sperm donor… And maybe… well, no, that's stupid."

It would have been nice for someone would interrupt her, but no such luck.

Darcy's brain began connecting things. They'd obviously listened to her conversation with Wade and drawn some conclusions. What had he said? Yellow costumes with Xs on them. Bites from crazed animals. Superpowers. Deadpool had thought she had a superpower. And. "Well, maybe *Wade* meant it, but…" She resisted the urge to write it off as Deadpool being crazy. Whatever Wade's issues might be, he'd stayed on the subject for a while, which she was beginning to think meant an unusual state of focus for him. "He still *had* to ask, which means it was just a guess on his part and what power do I supposedly even have," and oh, well, duh. Not *crazy* animals. Over*emotional* animals. That was what he'd said. And why had he asked her those questions? Because she'd just told him how she'd felt. Which meant? "Empathy? No, shit?! He thought I could tell how he felt? All I said was the obvious. Anyone would have known that. Most people. Some people?"

A quick glance at her audience showed that none of them had known that.

"Right?" she asked in a small voice. Because… think, think… "Maybe I'm some sort of Deadpool whisperer? I just speak his language?"

Again, survey of eyes, and survey says, 'Nope!'

"But I would *know*…"

Natasha's posture eases slightly. "I believe you." Her mouth moved into a smile. "That's why Tony's having a test run."

Anyone else would have been comforted by the first sentence and the smile. It had been fond. Her body language had been perfect. Natasha was even now stepping back, giving Clint an 'you know I had to do it' look, still in character.

Anyone else.

Fuck.

To Darcy, the Widow felt wrong. Had always felt wrong. Not bad. Not evil. Just wrong. Darcy saw the knife edge in Natasha's smiles. She felt like she possessed nothing Natasha wanted and if Natasha did want something Darcy possessed, she would take it.

Natasha had taken that answer. Why? 

Darcy glanced at the people around her, watching them over Jane's shoulder. Now that they had shifted positions, Tony was revealed to be on the phone, arms gesticulating wildly. Clint and Natasha, heads together, doing their thing. Something about Clint kept nagging at her. And finally, James staring at the floor. Still.

Not looking at her. No sign of what he thought or felt in his posture or expression.

She worried at her lip. Natasha believed that Darcy had no knowledge of any powers. Not that Darcy possessed no such ability. Tony and… Clint? Agreed with her? Were willing to let Natasha persuade them? Jane obviously didn't care. And James…

No. James was here. She had to believe that. That was his message. If he didn't want to be seen, he wouldn't be.

Why the fuckery it mattered so much to her that he believed her, Darcy couldn't say. It just did. (Clint's reaction didn't mean anything. His focus was on Natasha, not her. His lack of eye contact did not mean anything. Ignore. Ignore. Ignore.)

Darcy closed her eyes, hugging Jane close, trying to soak up comfort. Why did this scare her so much? It didn't. Matter. None of it.

She took a deep breath and let herself release the tension she felt inside. It felt like it had been too long since she let go of her worries. Felt confident in her footing.

She could feel at home here, right? In the tower? With people who cared about her?

Surely here she felt at home?

Well. More or less. She wouldn't ever feel truly at home. Not after --

A loud noise interrupted her inner monologue.

Darcy's eyes widened as she saw the opposite wall begin to bulge and two people come bursting through it, "-- not after having them destroyed so many FUCKING TIMES, THOR!! Put Deadpool down right now!"


	10. Netflix and chill?

The destruction of a floor of Stark Tower put an end to the unspoken tension caused by the revelation of Darcy's potential mutant status. Terror, shrieking and fleeing for one's life tended to do that.

They'd somehow avoided a Hulk-out; thank Thor that Bruce hadn't been interested in monitoring Darcy's meeting with Deadpool.

In the flurry of activity caused by ducking debris and moderating the Deadpool/Thor interaction caused by the necessity of restoring Deadpool's weapons to him without further injury to life or limb, Tony getting the genetic testing results diminished in importance. Not needed for containment or damage control, Darcy got herself and Jane out of the way via the thankfully unblocked stairs.

Jane's concern over her boyfriend's condition kept the scientist occupied, but for all their long acquaintanceship and fast friendship, Darcy would gladly have dumped Jane off on someone else if it had been possible.

Darcy badly wanted -- no, *needed* -- to fall apart. But she couldn't do that as long as Jane remained her responsibility. If it were up to her, she'd be curled up in a corner of her couch, screaming into a pillow, giving voice to the hysteria rising inside her. Or, y'know, be bookended by solid walls of muscular male reassuring her that this was just one more oddball thing in a life full of oddball things (starting with gods falling from the sky) and that she remained accepted and useful and wanted.

Instead she nodded to Jane, squeezing her hand. "I'm sure Thor's all right. A wall isn't going to dent that blonde warrior perfection. He'll be back soon and then we can call it a day. Things'll look better in the morning."

Things had better look better in the morning.

"Are you sure?" Jane asked.

No. "Of course. There's too much going on right now." True. "It'll take some time for things to clear up and then we'll have a better perspective to make decisions from." Again, true. How much time, though, that was up in the air. And Darcy sensed that the fall-out would get worse the longer it took to arrive.

If only someone else had joined her and Jane. That they were alone right now boded ill.

"Wanna watch a movie?" Darcy suggested, desperate for a distraction.

"Is that what you want to do?" Jane asked. "Because we can talk about it if you want. Or we don't have to. Whatever you need."

Darcy really didn't deserve her. "Yeah. It'll make the time go faster."

It didn't, but it did allow Darcy to grab a pillow and wrap herself around it. La La Land didn't exactly hold her attention, but it was something.

The movie played to its inevitable conclusion.

Darcy stared at the credits. Two hours elapsed and no one had come.

"Did you want to watch another movie?" Jane asked. Darcy didn't answer. Jane made a nervous gesture. "Or! Bed. Maybe the others went to bed. Thor…"

Darcy stared Jane down. Thor? Go anywhere without his Lady Jane? Not likely. And they would have heard a call-out.

Jane deflated. "Okay, I don't believe that either. Science?" she asked hopefully.

Darcy rolled her eyes. "No science for a period of four hours following any explosion, lab accident or Hulk-out."

On Jane, the resultant pout looked cute. "But I didn't cause the accident."

"The rules are the rules," Darcy intoned solemnly. "Respect the rules." She stood up from the couch. "Bedtime for Janey. Hint-hint."

"Do you need me to stay up with you?" Jane asked her. "Because I will. You know I will. Or we can raid the refrigerator and have ice cream. Or tequila floats! I liked it when we did that after the Donald thing."

Darcy wanted to smile. Really really wanted to. Or make a smart remark. Anything. "I… I just wanna go lie down and pretend today didn't happen. Not that anything *happened* happened. Not yet. But more like doze in bliss, oblivious to the looming disaster that's bearing down on me like a giant iceberg."

Jane made a face. "I think you mixed your metaphors."

"And I'm not even drunk!" Darcy made jazz hands. "Tada!"

"Darcy, you have no way of knowing that this is going to end up going badly--"

"Giant metal robot, evil elves, *Thor*--"

"Granted some unfortunate events have occurred…"

"--my iPod, M.O.D.O.K., the thing with the Skrulls, *Steve*--"

"Okay, okay, you have a point. Bad things happen. But so do good things. We're here, aren't we?"

Jane's face was so bright and hopeful. Darcy was morally opposed to kicking puppies. She folded. "Yeah. Things will look better in the morning. Nighty-night."

Jane didn't let her get away without several hugs and a reminder, "And if you can't sleep, remember it's just one more hour until science can resume!"

"I'll sic Thor on you if you don't get some sleep first," Darcy threatened.

"Ooh, no, not that. Not the comfy chair."

"Yes, the comfy chair!" Laughing, Darcy chased Jane to the stairs, walked her down to her floor. As soon as the stairwell door closed behind Jane, Darcy slumped to the side. "Fuck my life."


	11. Some facts about Darcy Lewis as seen by SHIELD

Original dossier, D. Lewis:

Education: Completed high school. Some college.  
Employment: Intern to asset of interest to SHIELD; no experience in field. Gofer.  
Level of importance: 1  
Threat level: Negligible.

 

Dossier revised by P. Coulson after Puente Antiguo:

Education: Bachelor in Political Science, partially completed.  
Employment: Intern to asset of interest to SHIELD; relationship: handler  
Potential for SHIELD recruitment: DNR at present.   
Skills: Possesses low-level hacking abilities, knowledge of social media, facility with electroshock weaponry.  
Comments:  
"Lacks fear. Makes instant decisions instead of panicking. Able to motivate assets effectively. Harmless exterior."  
Level of importance: 3  
Threat level: Low.

 

Dossier revised by S. Rogers:

Education: Bachelor's in Political Science, honors.  
Employment: Lab manager, Stark Industries.  
Contacts of interest: J. Foster, E. Selvig  
Potential for SHIELD recruitment: DNR at present.  
Skills: Adept with computers, social interaction and cooking.  
Comments:  
"Low self-esteem. Seeks validation in sexual relationships. Suspicious display of interest in Avengers personnel; potential indication of compromise by outside agency?"  
Level of importance: 4  
Threat level: Low.

 

Dossier revised by C. Barton after incident with Deadpool

Parental background: Mother (S. Lewis) and father (J. Palumbo) listed on birth certificate. No record of contact with birth father. Birth mother deceased at 5 months. Lived with maternal grandparents (T. & R. Lewis) for 3 years; grandparents deceased. Fostered with H. & D. Washburn, left at age 18.  
Relationships: F. Warren, D. Gould, I. Boothby, S. Rogers  
Education: B.A. in Political Science, master's degree in progress.  
Mutant gene: Being tested.  
Power: Empathy, receptive (?) Ability to perceive people's emotional states and desires, analyze these and take action.  
Employment: Lab manager, Stark Industries. Duty: handler. Position of influence over T. Stark, B. Banner and Foster.  
Contacts of interest: Banner, J. Barnes, C. Barton, Foster, T. Odinson, Rogers, N. Romanoff, Stark, W. Wilson  
Potential for SHIELD recruitment: High.  
Skills: Adept with electronic repair and maintenance, computer security, observation, asset management, popular culture and social interaction.  
Comments:  
"Projects naïve, harmless exterior while maintaining discreet surveillance of Avengers personnel. Apart from (possibly intentional?) break with Rogers, attained position of influence over majority of personnel associated with Avengers. Current goal unknown. Full subject capabilities unknown. Recommend close surveillance to determine exact capabilities and motive. Current contacts may be compromised. More information required."  
Level of importance: 7  
Threat level: Medium.


	12. Assessing The Damage

Clint came to lying on uneven ground, the ceiling of one of the rooms in Tony Stark's monument to his genitalia overhead. "What hit me?"

No response came, but he could hear familiar voices around him. Sitting up, the architect of this latest disaster caught his eye.

"Fortunate as we are to have one with Freya's gift among us, it is ill done of you to spy on the Lady Darcy thus," Thor said to Deadpool, shaking him as he held him from a single hand at the back of his neck.

One of the world's deadliest killers being scruffed like a puppy. What even was his life?

Clint picked himself up off of the floor, now able to remember having been thrown there when Thor unexpectedly blasted through the wall. He rubbed his hip, feeling a sharp white-hot flare familiar from past injuries. Aw, joints, no.

He automatically assessed his surroundings. Natasha giving him the side eye from across the leveled room. The dust settled already. He'd been down for longer than he thought then. Must've hit his head too. Go cognitive recalibration. Clint ran a hand carefully through his hair to check for injury. Couple of tender spots, nothing serious.

Debris everywhere. No structural damage other than the missing wall. Barnes entering from the direction of the stairs. No sign of Darcy or Foster; escorted away?

"You with us now, Legolas?" Stark asked him.

"Yeah, yeah. What is this, the third wall this month?"

"Would you believe that it is literally impossible to get insurance against acts of God anywhere in the greater tristate area these days?"

Clint pointedly glanced at Thor. "Is this a trick question?"

"Because it is," Stark continued without pausing. "And I think we all know who's fault that is."

"Yours?" Natasha suggested.

"Very funny." Stark ran worried eyes over Clint before clapping his hands. "Well, I need to get what I need moved down to the R&D lab before I lock the workshop down until the repairs are complete. Thor, if you'll take the trash out, we can meet back in the penthouse in say an hour to discuss? Maybe a little longer if Jarvis needs help verifying it's safe to use the elevators again?"

Hearing Stark's request, Thor set Deadpool down.

Released, the mercenary headed straight for the pile of his pouches and weaponry, all of which had gone miraculously untouched by his explosive re-entry into the tower. "My babies!"

The Asgardian looked between the larger chunks of rubble. "Where do you wish the remnants discarded?"

Stark rolled his eyes and jerked his thumb at the red clad figure rubbing his guns lovingly over his mask while cooing at them. "Him. Get rid of him. Jarvis can handle the clean-up. We'll get a crew in."

"Ah! I will do this gladly. I hoped to have further words with the son of Will."

"Got any booze left unsmashed, Stark?" Clint asked.

"Probably," Stark said immediately. "Why? There's plenty in the penthouse. You want to get *smashed* down here instead? The ambiance getting you in the mood?"

Clint didn't say anything, let his expression speak for him. Because he didn't want to hike up fifteen flights of stairs on an aching hip unmedicated, that's why, you fucking asshole. He *could*; he just didn't *want* to.

"Because talk about mood lighting!" Stark jabbered on, running his mouth on automatic as he often did when busy thinking about something else. "Clear off some space in here, throw in some artwork and you've got the world's classiest retro grunge gallery."

To one side, Deadpool finished gearing up. Thor, having apparently been courteous enough to wait for him to complete his task, picked up the mercenary and, swinging Mjolnir in one hand, departed through the open wall.

Clint ran his hand through his hair. He totaled up the damage of this craptastic day in his head. Fifteen fucking flights of stairs. Mutant powers. Deadpool and the woman he sorta kinda had a thing with discussing acting out each other's sexual fantasies. Empathy as a power. More injuries, one not even incurred in the line of duty. Mind fucking powers from someone he had allowed close to him…

A bottle insinuated itself into his line of sight. Vodka.

"Thanks, Nat," he said gratefully.

Across the room, Natasha gave him a scornful look.

"Not Nat," Barnes grumbled.

Maybe Clint was more out of it than he thought he was? He found Barnes scrutinizing him intensely, eyes dark.

Unlike Stark, Barnes saw him. Saw into him. It should have made Clint uncomfortable. Should have caused him to mask himself automatically, whether goofball or game face.

It didn't. Barnes knew. Knew he was in pain, that it wasn't enough to bother complaining about but was too much to want to pretend all was well. Had trusted, or started to trust, the same woman. Knew what it felt like to have his choices stripped away, wishes ignored completely as irrelevant.

Clint pushed the bottle back into Barnes' hand. No. A serious discussion needed to take place and much as he'd like to, getting drunk beforehand probably wasn't the wisest decision.

He sighed. "You got enough room for us to have that conversation in your workshop? I don't think I'm going to be able to make it up to the penthouse."

Stark's attention snapped to Clint like a spotlight. "What? Do you need Medical? We can put this off. It's important, but the results of the testing won't be back until tomorrow, later tonight at the earliest? You said he was fine, Romanoff!"

"He *is* fine, Stark," Natasha said implacably. "Just a little smudged around the edges."

"Obviously not!"

Great. He'd set Stark off. "Please?" Clint tried plaintively.

Stark opened his mouth, obviously about to set off on a rant.

Before he could begin, Barnes swung around and picked Clint up off of his feet. "Workshop unlocked?" he asked, walking away.

Over Barnes' shoulder, Clint saw Stark making a gobsmacked fish face before they were out of sight. He could sympathize. He was a grown ass man, damn it! He didn't get picked up and carried! Unless he'd thrown himself off of a roof. Or needed a boost up onto one. Or was using Hulk as a mobile weapons platform… okay, maybe he did get picked up a lot.

"Not gonna say anything?" Barnes rumbled into his ear.

Clint consciously let himself relax against the other man. "Nah. Gonna carry me over the doorstep?"

"You gonna give me a kiss if I do?"

"Which answer means that I don't get dropped on my ass?"

Then they were at the doorway, which Jarvis opened automatically for them. Barnes stepped through, causing Clint to tense.

Barnes' hold strengthened, the other man cradling Clint protectively closer. "Not gonna drop you, punk."

Oh. Oh! Clint really hoped he wasn't blushing. Secret agents don't blush. "I hit my head. Be nice to me."

They approached the couch set against one wall of the workshop. While not as elegant as the furnishings in the rest of the tower, its shabby exterior hid an unsurprising degree of comfort given how often its owner spent sleeping there.

Barnes sat down, Clint still in his lap.

"You going to let me go?" Clint asked.

A nose nuzzled behind his ear. "Nah. Don't feel like it."

A suspicion grew. "Are you trying to distract me?"

"Is it working?"

Clint really didn't want it to be. But… "Yeah."

He didn't have to see Barnes' face to know he was smiling. Probably smugly, the bastard.

"This is serious, you realize," Clint told him. "You know that as well as I do." He didn't say Darcy's name. Didn't have to. "Even if she… even if it turns out not to have been deliberate, it raises issues that have to be addressed." That was as close as he could come to voicing the turmoil in his head. Part of him urged him to wait and see, to get a longer view; that part pitted against the part of him struggling to avoid flashing back to things he didn't want to recall.

"Ssh. We'll get there when we get there. No matter what happens, you won't be alone."

Clint could only stare stricken at James when he heard that. Warm arms tight around him, low voice in his ear, all telling him he wouldn't be alone regardless of how things turned out. "Aw, heart, no."

Then Nat was settling silently alongside James, giving Clint a cool look.

His resultant flush prevented him from noticing Stark's arrival until the inventor pulled up a chair.

"Probably for the best that Thor isn't here for this," Stark said flippantly. "He gets antsy when anyone starts defaming his lightning sister. So, implications, concerns, questions?"

"You go ahead," James told him. "You're doing all right already."

"Fine." Stark nodded. "Wilson's crazy, but no one ever said he was stupid. If he thinks Double D has powers, she probably does. Which is why I'm opening myself to a lawsuit by having Lewis tested. Whether she knew or not is irrelevant; if it becomes relevant, we can sort that out later. We have a guess at her power -- empathy -- but no specifics. I think we can all make some guesses, some of which are more frightening than others. The question is where do we go from here?"

"Her SHIELD file doesn't mention any history with powers, either in her background or her family's," Natasha commented. "That will have to be reviewed."

Stark held up a hand. "Whoa. We don't know anything yet."

"We know there's a possibility," Natasha told him, stone-faced. "That's more than enough cause to look more deeply."

"Granted," Stark allowed. "But what do we actually know?"

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but Deadpool is our best sign that something is definitely going on," Clint said. He sat up, extricating himself from James' hold. "We don't have the perspective to say what abilities she-- the-- what abilities we're dealing with. It's easy to mistake Deadpool's mannerisms as his real feelings, but a lot more difficult to figure out what's actually going on in his head. If she… that tells us that there's something there." He swallowed. "It could be a natural ability? A skill?"

Natasha gave him a gentle smile. Yeah. That didn't make Clint feel better. He knew that smile. It was reserved for when he was being particularly childish or an idiot or both. "If it is, it's so far escaped SHIELD's notice."

"And needs to be evaluated and noted," Clint finished unhappily. "I'll do it. We're all compromised at this point; it doesn't matter which one of us the report comes from."

"Well, that's settled!" Stark said brightly. He produced the bottle of vodka James had procured earlier. "Who wants to get really drunk while we discuss all the horrifying ways our minds, emotions and free will may have been violated in the, hell, how long has Lewis been living here?"

"She met Thor first." Nat held her hand out for the bottle.

"Start here and work backwards?" Stark suggested, passing the bottle over. "Unless we want to chance Point Break getting smashy with more of my tower." He stood up. "I know I have glasses around here somewhere."

Clint didn't refuse the glass Natasha offered him, although James did. By unspoken agreement, there was no further discussion until each of the drinkers had finished their glasses and a second one poured.

"So, empathy? What are we thinking here? More than reading body language obviously, but is it emotions, thoughts, something else? And are we talking just reading or being able to affect other people's emotions?" Stark waved his glass. "Jarvis, start a list."

"Yes, sir."

A virtual screen popped up with bullet points already entered. "Reading emotions and/or body language, yes. Confirmed by Wade Wilson, aka Deadpool. Influencing other people's actions and/or emotions, maybe. Suggested by Steve Rogers, aka Captain Stick Up His Ass. By the way, does this mean he was actually right? And if so, is he a bigot as well as a misogynist?"

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Focus, Stark." She turned her gaze to James and Clint. "We can make suppositions all night."

Clint winced imperceptibly. To Stark, it probably sounded like Nat had just suggested waiting until they knew more. To him, it was clear that she regarded himself and James as their best source of intelligence. And would probably be judging exactly how far he was compromised by how forthcoming he was about Dar-- about what he'd seen and heard. How compromised was he? Very. Even in his head, he couldn't sort out which information was public, which was private and which was merely personal. Having to use that information to make speculations nauseated him. Knowing that SHIELD would consider all of it -- even the private bits -- fair game affected him the worst. He'd spread his psyche open for the shrinks after Loki and been savaged for it. And actual damage had been done there by someone he despised. Here, he didn't know what crimes, if any, had been committed -- they weren't even sure the mutant gene was present! -- and the person in question was someone he'd started to care for.

"Yeah," Stark agreed, either unaware or in agreement with the subtext. "We don't know anything until the tests get run and even if we do, we'd need, what? Professor X or some other of his X-Men to tell us what precisely her powers are. An outside consultant. I can start looking into who we need to get down here."

"SHIELD can do that."

Stark shrugged. "Just as easy for me to do it."

"If the test comes back positive, SHIELD will need to reconfirm the results themselves. They won't trust any of our judgments," Natasha told him.

Stark's eyes sharpened. "And if they don't trust any of us, they're going to take action. What are we looking at here? I'm guessing a polite inquiry is out of the question?"

"It depends on the report," Clint responded bleakly. "If it looks like we're aware of the concerns and are handling things matter in a reasonable and responsible manner, then they may review it and go along with our recommendations."

"And if not, forcible invasion, I take it," Stark said grimly, having no illusions as to the way SHIELD operated. "I can have Jarvis keep an eye out for home invaders."

"And runaways."

They all stared at him. Clint swallowed. "They'll want to know you -- we -- have control of the situation. If not--"

"You know," Stark observed, "this whole situation is making me question whether there's such a thing as being too paranoid. Normally, I'd say no -- if you're going to be paranoid, go big or go home -- but Loki's flying monkey thing aside, agreeing with SHIELD on things like this makes my skin creep. Jarvis, keep an eye on Lewis, but look into planning a party. If Short and Stacked *is* a mutant, then what we need is a coming out party not a lynching. She is still in the tower, isn't she?"

"Yes, sir. If I might, it appears that Miss Lewis has decided to wait until hearing the results of the testing before making any decisions."

"Good. Let me know if that changes. I don't want to lose the guest of honor before I've even started planning the party." The inventor stood up, waving his free hand. "In fact, let's invite everyone. All of the X people. Kill two birds with one stone. Find out what Lewis can do and introduce her around. I like the idea of a quinceanera. Debutantes are boring. What kind of menu does that give us?"

Still talking, Stark wandered away.

Natasha looked at James and Clint. "Write the report. I'll talk to Coulson. I can notify building security--"

"Can if you want to," James interrupted. "Won't matter. Soon as I get this one to bed," he indicated Clint, "I'll look after Darcy."

Neither of them asked whether he'd be protecting her from outsiders or protecting them from her. It was likely that James considered it irrelevant.

Natasha nodded and departed, leaving the two of them alone.

"Why am I getting put to bed?" Clint whined. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not." James seemed utterly certain about that.

Clint let himself lean into James. "No, I'm not."

James didn't move, didn't speak, just sat there and silently offered his support.

"If… if she did fuck with my head, I'm not sure I'm going to be able to handle it," Clint confessed. It felt uncomfortable, admitting to weakness like that.

"We'll handle it," James told him in a tone that admitted no doubt. "Worse out there than a good-looking dame wanting you to like her."

Clint levered himself up. "Yeah." Putting weight on both feet hurt. He'd stiffened up sitting. "Hope the elevator's running. Jarvis?"

"The elevator is functional again, Agent Barton," Jarvis informed him.

James stood, nudging his shoulder until Clint let the other man have some of his weight.

"You're just hoping you'll get a chance to carry me," Clint groused.

"You wish."

Yeah. He kinda did.


	13. So what you're saying is…

"…and so we may have SHIELD goons showing up at some point to 'escort' Boobs McGee off the premises."

Bruce rubbed his eyebrows mildly. "So what you're saying is that you don't know whether our lab manager is a mutant, but you're convinced that she's been manipulating us with previously unknown powers from the start and you've let a paranoid paramilitary organization with a history of stalking and imprisoning powered individuals know about it, so you'd like me to stay out of the way for the next however long?"

"It sounds bad when you put it like that," Tony said.

"It sounds bad," Bruce repeated flatly. "Tony, on our first meeting, you told me you were a fan of how I turned into an enormous green rage monster and poked me with an electric prod without any trace of fear. Yet somehow you and some of our colleagues seem to be threatened of having being manipulated for years by a woman who uses her powers -- if any -- to get you to sleep more and eat regularly."

"Forget it, stop. Don't say anything further. You're just making it worse at this point. If you keep going, I'm going to have to throw myself out a window without a suit before the Hulk gets a chance."

"Sir, the test results have come back," Jarvis announced.

"Not a good time, J."

"Sir, you really should be aware…"

"Bup bup bup! Talking about important grown up matters here." He made the mistake of meeting Banner's gaze. Bruce had the patient expression of a man who knew his target not only had enough rope to hang himself, he already was in the process of doing so himself. "Wait. Never mind. I'm talking myself into an ass kicking again, aren't I? What do the results say, Jarvis?"

"Miss Lewis does not possess the X-gene."

"That… I did not expect that."

Bruce gave him a satisfied look. "Your apology will have to be good. I doubt she'll consider working here after this and I know Pepper adores her and thinks she's the best baby sitter you've ever had."

"Best built, that's for sure," Tony agreed absently, looking a little stunned. "How is she not a mutant? Were we seeing things?"

"Confirmation bias," Bruce reminded him helpfully.

"She admitted it!"

"Anchoring? Bandwagon effect?" Bruce's mouth quirked at the edges. "I can keep listing cognitive biases. Or is this you reacting to evidence that disproves your hypothesis by strengthening your hypothesis? Also known as the backfire effect, another cognitive bias," he provided helpfully.

"I wonder if she wants a pony. All girls like horses, right? Jarvis, do I own a horse farm? If not, how soon can I?" Tony seemed on the verge of a manic fit.

Bruce toyed with the placket of his shirt. "The other guy likes Darcy. He doesn't like SHIELD very much. You might want to do something about that. I don't think he'd be very happy if they showed up."

"Mother puss bucket. Jarvis?"

"Yes, sir?"

"See if Katniss sent out his report yet? Maybe we'll get lucky and SHIELD doesn't even know about this yet."

Bruce gave him a dubious look.

"What? You didn't see him last night. Mr. My Leg Is Falling Off But I'm Fine let himself be carried around like some sort of swooning maiden. It was hysterical. I got him a subscription to Bride's magazine. Can't wait til it shows up. Don't worry. Katniss is always in trouble for turning in his paperwork late. He probably hasn't even started writing it yet."

"Sir?"

Tony groaned. "Jarvis, don't make a liar out of me."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, sir. However, Director Fury would like to speak to you."

"Of course he does." Tony face palmed. "Okay, put him on. Nick! Nicky D! How are you? Great to hear from you this fine morning! Emergency's over, you can call the dogs off. Lewis is not a mutant."

"We know."

"You know? Of course you know. Did you call up just to gloat?"

"No." Fury sounded smug. It put Tony on guard. "With Captain Rogers away, I needed to notify you as nominal leader of the Avengers that Sergeant Barnes, Dr. Banner, Agent Barton, Thor Odinson and yourself are required to complete SHIELD security recognizance before being allowed access to SHIELD property or intelligence."

"Okay, I get it, you're pissed. But…" Tony frowned. "You're missing a name. Why are you missing a name?"

"Agent Romanoff has SHIELD's full confidence. Goodbye, Stark."

"Director Fury has ended the call, sir."

"That was ominous, Bruce. Why was that ominous?"

"Sir, Miss Lewis has just left the tower in the company of Agent Romanoff."

"That was a rhetorical question!"


	14. In which Natasha is not even a little bit nice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the last chapter, I received a comment that read, "Natasha better be nice to her!" Which amused me, because I thought I'd made the implications clear. So I wrote this.

Natasha took an inventory of the situation.

Clint Barton slept deeply, circles under his eyes from staying up to concentrate on computer screens when he would have been better off resting his battered body and brain. While his level of exhaustion and pain were negligible by mission ready standards, not being on alert status would cause him to make the most of the rest he could get.

Thor Odinson and Jane Foster merited only a brief glance. Both were asleep; Thor was snoring. The scientist represented an unknown variable; her sleep tended to be erratic and not on any schedule. Still her own nature meant that she was unlikely to notice that her friend's absence. A low risk at best.

Stark and Banner were both awake and sharing a lab. While both were threats, the risk was acceptable; the two men kept each other occupied and distracted when their individual forays into science did not.

The real problem did not sleep, would not be amenable to reasoning and could not be easily subdued. Any fighting would call attention to her, alerting Jarvis, which the plan did not call for.

She considered misdirection. While it would pose no risk to her to create an excuse to lure Barnes away from the target, the odds of it working fell too low to risk it. She foresaw four potential outcomes for failure: he called for backup before leaving his post, he saw through her ruse, or he fell for it, but returned before she could successfully retrieve the target. In all cases, the Winter Soldier would be alerted to her plans. Not a desirable outcome.

Fortunately SHIELD had made preparations for this contingency.

Natasha went to Darcy's floor, let the chime announce her and met Barnes at the door.

Neither of them spoke. Answering the door put him within her reach. When it came right down to it, it was surprisingly easy. A quiet word, 'Sputnik', a hand on his arm, then she was supporting his weight until she got his unconscious bulk situated on the couch in such a fashion to look like he'd fallen asleep. She didn't know where SHIELD had gotten the codeword or why they had it, but she didn't need to know.

After that, it was a simple matter to slip into Darcy's room, shake her awake and tell her that Fury wanted to see her. It wasn't even a lie. She didn't need one with Darcy. If she felt such things, it would make her despise Darcy. Natasha had no use for allies who walked into traps.

****

"Get dressed. Fury wants to speak to you."

Darcy knew from the moment she saw Natasha at her bedside. Darcy'd never seen a woman when she looked at Natasha. She couldn't have explained what she did see: it was more an absence than a presence. Darcy saw humanity in people who had been made into weapons. Natasha had been made into a weapon, but she lacked something essential that even the worst of people possessed. A soul perhaps? Desires of her own? Darcy didn't know what to call it; none of those fit, but she didn't have a word that described it. It left Darcy wary of Natasha in a way that she was of no one else. That the spy was here in her Darcy's bedroom told Darcy everything she needed to know.

The events of the previous day had already clued her in to how the Avengers saw the possibility of her having abilities. She didn't know why someone like her posed such a threat to them, but first Cap had thought so, then the rest of them had confronted her. She never expected them to be happy for her -- her life had long since taught her that good things always came with a cost. That she kept reaching for them anyway, that was on her.

That it was Natasha who had come... That said that there was no use for struggling or making a fuss. All of Darcy's possible actions had been foreseen and taken into account; struggling would only tire her out. If they'd wanted her input or this were less serious, things would have been done differently. No use for smarting off or trying to bargain; Natasha wouldn't pay attention to either.

For a moment, Darcy considered leaving a message. That would be the smart thing to do. She might even be able to get away with something innocuous passed on through Jarvis. Tell Jane she loved her, that kind of thing.

Except Jane already knew that. As did Thor.

And after last night, there was no one else who would care to hear it.

Dread rippled through her as she pulled on the rest of her clothing. Being taken to see Fury. Being put at the mercy of SHIELD, an agency that had no mercy. What would happen now? So many things she didn't want, so many things she couldn't prevent.

In the end, it came down to her basic beliefs. She needed to be useful. She wanted approval for that. And finally, she was worthless.

With her new powers revealed, she was no longer useful to the Avengers. They didn't trust her; what little she could do to make their lives easier worked because they liked her enough to be open to her and accept the things she gave them. They no longer approved of her; Clint and James hadn't even come to see her and that left her cold inside. She was worthless without having a function to perform; a dead weight, a parasite. Worse, she now served as a point of contention: she was a problem for them to solve, conflict they didn't need.

Darcy didn't bother to grab her purse or her phone. Anything she took with her, she'd never get back. If she left it here, she had a slight chance of seeing it again.

All that remained was to say "tell everyone I'm sorry".

She already knew that Natasha would not relay that message, even though the spy nodded silently in response. While it was possible that Jarvis was listening and would, Darcy didn't know that anyone would care.

It didn't matter. She'd said it for herself, not anyone else.

****

Updates to dossier of Darcy Lewis by N. Romanoff  
Parental background: Birth parents: M. Leevald (codename: Stacy X) and E. Gitter (codename: Ink) (see SHIELD files). Placed for adoption at birth with S. Lewis (ABC lists J. Palumbo; no involvement of individual with child found).  
Upbringing: Birth to 5 months, Lewis. 5 months to 3 years, T. and R. Lewis. 3 years to 18 years, H. and D. Washburn. (See interview with Washburn and police and social service records.)  
Relationships: F. Washburn, D. Gould, J. Harris, I. Boothby, S. Rogers, C. Barton, J. Barnes, W. Wilson  
Education: B.A., Political Science (minor: Psychology). Currently enrolled at Columbia as a non-degree student; awaiting approval for entering graduate program.  
Mutant gene: No. (Leevald depowered by M-Day; latent potential possible. Possible changes to Gitter's DNA due to exposure to power empowerment tattoos unknown.)  
Powers: Under investigation. Terrigenesis may be effective in achieving more potent results.


	15. Hi ho hi ho

A brace of SHIELD vehicles carried Darcy away from the Avengers tower before Tony could get his suit on or security could be mobilized from the building's lobby.

He tried anyway. By the time he made it out of the building, the four identical vehicles had separated, making it necessary to chase each one down separately. While Jarvis was able to keep track of all four, the second one he'd tracked down had been abandoned. He'd had the choice between going after helicopters or the other vehicles. While both he and Jarvis were certain that the helicopter in question had taken off from the same spot the SUV had been abandoned, the helicopter Tony intercepted did not hold Darcy. At that point, much too late, he'd realized that unfortunately, SHIELD had planned for that eventuality as well and multiple helicopters were also in play. 

All he could do was have Jarvis to back trace the other helicopter flights and return to the tower.

As soon as Tony had left the building, Jarvis alerted the others, waking Clint as well as Thor and Jane. When James could not be woken, Jarvis notified Tony. Bruce and Thor were sent to check on the missing Winter Soldier.

"His vital signs are normal," Jarvis told them as they approached Darcy's door. "However, Sergeant Barnes is not responding to any of my attempts to communicate with him."

"How long has he been like that?" Bruce asked.

"Approximately 45 minutes. He entered this state immediately after admitting Agent Romanoff to the premises."

"Was he given something? Some sort of injection?"

"I am unable to say," Jarvis told him apologetically. "Nothing of the sort was observed, but Agent Romanoff did make physical contact with the sergeant. Something may have occurred that I missed."

"Were words exchanged before this dishonorable action?" Thor inquired.

Jarvis opened the door to Darcy's quarters automatically. "Sergeant Barnes did not speak. While it appears that Agent Romanoff said something, it was brief and despite enhancement, I was unable to determine what was said."

Bruce went to the recumbent form and began taking his vital signs, while Thor investigated the rest of the apartment.

Unexpectedly, Clint slid in beside him, joining him. "That's her phone over there. And her iPod."

"Ah, thank you, my friend." Thor held up three different purses, all in different styles and fabrics. "I cannot tell whether something is missing here."

Clint took them, setting them on the bed and going through them one by one. "Not this one. Or this one. Okay," he said, holding up her wallet, "now we're getting somewhere." After a moment, he fished out a set of keys. "Yeah, she normally would have taken this with her too."

"But she did not. That does not bode well."

"Nope."

When they returned to the living area, Tony had joined them, still suited as Iron Man. "The Abominable Snowman's still out for the count. Thor, you wanna step up here? Brucie's got the equivalent of smelling salts on hand, but we wanted someone more durable and less likely to destroy the place to use them."

Bruce handed a capsule to Thor. "Once we're out of the room, break this under his nose. It should work right away, if it works."

Thor nodded solemnly and carefully took the tiny ampule between two large fingers.

The others filed out of the room. Bruce kept walking, heading for the elevator.

"What's wrong with him, doc?" Tony asked.

"Nothing as far as I can tell. If this doesn't work, then he'll need to go to Medical and have bloodwork done. Although there may be no more point to doing that than checking for an injection site due to his healing."

"You turning down the opportunity to get a super soldier naked and run your hands all over him now, big green?" Tony teased.

"Yes, actually."

A thud shook the hallway.

"Looks like it worked," Tony observed. "Jarvis?"

"Sergeant Barnes is awake and expressing his displeasure at Miss Lewis' disappearance. I would not advise entering until he has finished."

Clint tapped his ear, checking to make sure his hearing aid was seated properly. "Sound proofing's better than I thought it was."

"Yeah, it's the good stuff. Put it in when I did the last remodel. Didn't want to get interrupted during sex by any boy scouts thinking they were preventing a murder. Puts me off my stroke."

That drew a snort from Clint. Bruce looked vaguely amused.

The door to Darcy's room opened. The Winter Soldier stalked out.

"Whoa," Tony whispered. "I think my panties just combusted."

Bruce gave him a look halfway between disbelieving and disapproving, but Clint just blinked. He recognized that intense laser focus and it provoked a Pavlovian response in himself.

"Where?" James growled.

"Jarvis?"

"No flights have been observed leaving the Helicarrier since Miss Lewis arrived."

"Do we have eyes on her inside?"

"No, sir. Regular communications with SHIELD have been cut."

"And irregular communications? C'mon, Jarvis, get on the ball here."

"All of my attempts at bypassing SHIELD security have so far failed. In this case, as it is your assistance that is required, I believe it is you who needs to climb onto the round object, so to speak, sir."

James's glower silenced them. "Stop flirting. Are you coming?"

"You're going to take on SHIELD alone?" Tony asked incredulously.

A metal hand took his shoulder and pulled Tony out of the way of its owner.

"I guess you are," Tony observed. "I'm not sure who I feel sorrier for. David or Goliath."

"Darcy, jackass," Clint told him. "Wait up! You aren't going alone. Let's talk explosives."

"I was *kidding*!" Tony protested loudly. "I didn't mean that. Of course we're going after Jugsalicious. I hate it when people take my things." He looked at Bruce. "You knew I was kidding, right?"

Bruce shook his head slowly. A little green showed in his eyes.

Tony winced before calling down the hall. "Uh, guys? Hold the elevator. Guys!"


	16. Appeal to the God of Cake

"Miss Lewis."

"Herr Commandant Direktor Fury," she retorted.

Fury stood next to his desk, watching the whole time as she was marched into his office and escorted to a chair. While neither Natasha nor the jackbooted thug ever touched her, it was clear from their close proximity that if Darcy did not sit down on her own, she would be forced to do so.

The jackbooted thug (okay, to be fair, the bald guy with the glasses was wearing a suit) laid a packet of papers on Fury's desk before stepping backward and leaving the office.

Fury nodded to the man before returning his attention solely to Darcy.

"Thank you for joining us." He indicated the stack of paper on the desk with his glance. "It's your choice whether you do it as Agent Lewis, or Subject #64-61726379-DA."

Darcy stared at him. Fury she understood. Couldn't stand, but understood. "With recruitment incentives like that, I don't know how you guys haven't been destroyed by your own people."

"We have our ways."

"Let me guess, they include aggressive questioning, close monitoring and confinement to quarters?"

He gave her an unamused smile. "Read, Miss Lewis. I only have so much time."

She heard the unspoken 'you only have so much time' without it having to be said. Darcy reached out and took the indicated documents. Two file folders, one rubber banded to a set of paperclipped pages with a post-it on the top of those.

The post-it read 'new agent p/w'. As the first thing under that was a standard job application form, Darcy didn't know how much going through that stack would help her decision making process. Good health benefits so not the issue, guys.

The rubber banded folder was labeled 'Standard Evaluation Procedure' and the other 'Experimental Testing Procedures'.

She opened the first folder. Might as well start with the best case scenario. If she couldn't hack that, then it didn't matter which choice she picked.

When the first document in the folder turned out to be a questionnaire, Darcy scoffed, huffing a silent breath. Really? The next document outlined what looked like instructions for testing enhanced strength. Again, really? The lady and the tiger was one thing, but at least shave the lady first. Or, in her case, don't shave because needing to shave the lady implied it was actually a man which would be appealing. No, that was a terrible example. She needed to calm down. She was starting to panic and that wouldn't help any.

No, appeal to a higher power. Her mind settled and calm returned. Now Darcy was able to put the problem into proper context.

If they were going to offer her cake or death, then they should at least make it chocolate cake! Yes. She nodded firmly. Cake or death. She could deal with those options. Thinking of it in those terms allowed her to cope.

Darcy shuffled through the rest of the papers in the folder. None of them lent any further plausibility to this option. There was no way that SHIELD operated like this. She didn't see anything that specifically addressed emotion based powers. If they left that out, what else were they leaving out? Because if she chose cake, Darcy knew for certain that SHIELD were going to make damn sure she ate that cake.

Darcy nodded with satisfaction at having seen through their ploy and set that folder aside. Wasn't going to need that one again, nope, nosiree.

She opened the other folder. The death option. This folder contained much more information. More scientific too. She thought these might be sheets actually used in the department in question. The people who had written them certainly understood the concept of trying to prove a theory false. In increasingly creepier ways and she was only on the third page. How much further to the true horrors?

One thing stood out. The death option had the wrong name. Death would be preferable.

Darcy licked her lips. She didn't need to look through any more papers. She'd read enough; she had enough information to make up her mind although she still needed time to think through the implications. Fortunately more documents remained for her to review as she hadn't actually read through the new agent paperwork yet. Hopefully these ones wouldn't scar her mentally. Darcy set the death folder aside as well and started through the packet, scanning through it without reading any of the words.

What options did she have really?

Could she kill herself? Obviously at some point if she took the death option, she would want to, but would she be able to? Highly unlikely. However, if she took the cake option, it was already clear that it was going to be pineapple upside down cake and she hated pineapple upside down cake. And once you'd eaten the cake, throwing it up was even more disgusting than eating it in the first place. And she'd seen that scene in G.I. Jane where they'd made the aspiring SEALs eat the leftovers from the night before if they wanted to eat at all. It wouldn't be good cake.

Once she became an agent, she'd have to wait for a chance to kill herself. An opportunity would come; she was sure of that. She wouldn't get one right away. By then, there was a significant chance that she wouldn't be able to do it. But she'd be trapped into doing things she objected to on every level, having committed how many of them in the process of getting an opportunity to escape? That presented a moral dilemma in and of itself. Plus even if she did take the cake route and managed to get an opportunity to do something to save herself, who said she'd get away with it? Getting caught would be worse; she'd be back to the tiger. That route could end up being as pointless as trying to wrestle a gun away from the goon and shooting herself right here. Epic fail.

Escape? Not likely. A life on the run did not appeal even if she thought she'd have any chance of pulling it off.

Maybe she should start sleeping with the taser under her pillow in the future? No, that wouldn't have helped; Natasha would have seen it coming. Why was she even trying to solve that problem? It had already happened. She needed to deal with the present.

So, two options. Both bad. Cake or death?

Time to appeal to that higher power again.

"Help me, Eddie Izzard!"


	17. A PSA from our friends at Hydra

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Enter to win. One entry per person. No purchases necessary. Void where prohibited. Tony Robbins is not an actual person.


	18. Epilogue

The interview ended all too soon. Darcy didn't know whether she had made the right choice. Not that there seemed to *be* a right choice. Either way they would conduct unknown experiments on her; the only difference she could see was that in one case, she would be willingly volunteering to participate. Fuck that.

Natasha led Darcy to a cell and locked her inside. "I'm sorry," she told her.

Darcy wrapped her arms around herself. What good did that do her? The Avengers were sorry that she was going to be tortured? "Sorry about what?" she retorted. "You're not the one who's going to be a test subject."

No reply came from Natasha as the redhead secured the door.

From within the cell, Darcy heard, "Hardly a fair observation, given that she's had her own experiences with that."

Startled, Darcy turned and surveyed the cell.

A familiar figure was seated on the bunk.

"Ipod Thief!"

"Miss Lewis."

"Don't you mean Subject 64 dash something or the other?"

Coulson smiled serenely at her. He radiated calm and control. No way was he a prisoner. He'd been waiting for her. Something was up.

"Of course you didn't," Darcy huffed. "You meant Miss Lewis. Or you want me to think you meant that in which case you should know that I'm lousy at mind games."

"I am aware of that, yes."

"So whatcha doing?" Giving up on demanding answers, she took a seat next to him on the bunk. "Some guy says I can do weird stuff with my brain and all of a sudden SHIELD goes batshit crazy. What's up with that? I mean, I didn't expect you to be the good guys, but I thought you'd maybe read the Evil Overlord's List? I'm pretty sure that there's some entry about 'I will not threaten my minions with torture to get them to sign up because that just motivates them to backstab me'."

"Actually -- no."

"Seriously? If I had even a teensy weensy bit more hatred for you guys, I would have totally done that."

Coulson sighed. "Miss Lewis, you would have been brought here regardless of which choice you made. The decision you were asked to make was a sham."

"Oooh." Darcy's eyes went wide. "So this *is* a setup." She paused. "A setup for what?"

"This." He held out a mobile phone to her.

She took it, puzzled, and swiped it to unlock it. "Okay. You've got an app open. It's called Insight?" She examined it. Looked like an unholy Tindr/Facebook merger with some sort of bullshit exam setup to make people believe that they were better than everyone else. Kinda cynical, but whatever. Not really her thing. Tony would love it -- he'd redownload it as many times as necessary until he passed.

She didn't get it. Was this really what Coulson wanted her to look at? She raised an eyebrow at him.

He nodded. "Yes. While I can't disclose any details, we believe that Hydra is making use of it to target individuals who might cause problems for their regime to be neutralized."

"But they don't have a regime. That I noticed." Hydra was trying to take over the world using social media? Double you tee eff?

He smiled grimly.

Her eyes grew wide again. Dude said more in his silences than other people did with their words. She hadn't noticed the rise of a totalitarian regime. And if she hadn't noticed, but Agent Ipod Thief thought she should have, then what did that mean? Darcy started piecing things together. Nat kidnapping her from the tower. Fury's abrupt confrontation. The shitty choices they'd presented her with. It was all a pretense. A scheme to get her here to this moment without anyone suspecting her. Because… Because?

"Um. What do you expect me to do about this?"

"Initially? When we chose you? Nothing."

She gave him a look. "Seriously dude?"

"Seriously. We needed a pawn and you happened to be in the right place at the right time. However, given that you're here anyway, I understand that you're something of a social media expert?"

"I've surfed the Internets," Darcy allowed.

Coulson smiled thinly. "Congratulations, Miss Lewis. You're now a special consultant in charge of shutting down Project Insight. Kill the app before it becomes a literal killing app."

"You set up this whole thing just so you could make that joke, didn't you?'

He said nothing.

"Didn't you??"

****

Two weeks into his 'mission', Steve felt relieved to see a flag raised on the pier indicating that a new shipment of supplies had been dropped off. He'd have been happier if he could have greeted those doing the resupply, but his orders specified that he was not to make contact with anyone until the entire period of time elapsed.

Two weeks so far spent without human company. He had a house of sorts to stay in, but the furniture, such as it was, was limited to a hammock, table and chairs. No electricity. No reading material other than a dystopian novel called "A Handmaid's Tale" that had apparently been slipped into his gear by May. No tools other than what he'd had on him when he landed.

Food… well. He'd had worse. He was bored, not miserable. He had far too much time to think.

When it came to Darcy Lewis, he knew he could have handled things better. But he still believed he'd made the right call. He had examined his observations repeatedly and not found any fault with them. She had done what he thought she had done and her behavior definitely warranted suspicion. The matter needed to be addressed. That much he knew to be true.

How he'd reacted… not so much. Given the opposition he'd faced since confronting Darcy and his current situation, Steve could see that he'd messed up.

Where and how, that was the question. And maybe why.

He'd read the novel three times already. Lack of anything better to do compelled him even though he'd hated it the first time and hadn't gotten any fonder of it upon subsequent rereading. If May had meant to compare him to the Commander… Steve couldn't see it and felt more than a little insulted that anyone could. It portrayed a brutal totalitarian society with everyone pitted against everyone else and only men (and only some of those) having any real power. Everyone in it committed senseless atrocities and engaged in behavior Steve found disturbing and unsettling.

Sometimes, he felt he'd been stranded on an island with the book and that getting away from it would be his favorite thing about leaving this place.

Shaking his head to get the thoughts out of his mind, Steve unpacked the new supplies, taking his time about it to stretch out the experience.

Smoked salmon, a stack of pita bread, hummus, a pile of fresh vegetables and fruits, more granola than he could shake a stick at, bagels, a block of hard cheddar and some sausages greeted him. He'd worried the first time he'd received provisions that there wouldn't be enough, especially since he had no means to preserve the food, but regular deliveries continued to show up. Just no deliverers.

Underneath the food laid a soft cloth in red fabric. Steve picked it up and shook it out. What was it? A blanket? Napkin?

No. Once spread out, he saw that it was a T-shirt of all things. On the front, in black print, it said, "The Avengers defeated Hydra and all I got was this lousy t-shirt".

Steve frowned. What? If this was a joke, it was in bad taste.

An envelope that had been concealed in the folds of the shirt fell out and landed on the ground.

Steve picked it up. Inside was a piece of paper and a photograph. He read the sheet of paper first.

"Dear Capsicle. We defeated Hydra without you. Sorry, not sorry. Love, Tony."

What? The team did what while he was gone?

He looked at the photo. Then held it up, shook it and looked at it again. Pinched himself and looked yet again.

The picture remained the same.

An unconscious Red Skull (?!), head lolling, took up the center of the image. Behind him stood Bucky and Clint. They flanked a grinning Darcy, who was making rabbit ears behind Schmidt's ears.

Rabbit ears.

Blood thrummed in his ears. Hydra was still a thing? They'd taken it down without him? And he was still stuck here for another two weeks?

He couldn't think of a time he'd felt more useless.

But, hey -- clean shirt.


End file.
